by R.R. Tavárez | Oct 21, 2021 | Poetry
Abuela sweeps her hair back Ties it up Soy fea. I am ugly. She says. Such a common refrain. I watch her hands Weathered, but unwrinkled Her fingers chorus A more ancient verse Of waters pulled By an invisible moon Onto a sand formally known as Unknown Formally known...
by R.R. Tavárez | Nov 19, 2012 | Essay
They called me “100% gringo.” If I had been white enough to blush, my anger and frustration would have instantly been revealed. However, my skin wasn’t white. They didn’t see my anger, frustration and shame. Back in the United States, calling a Latino a gringo was...
by R.R. Tavárez | Aug 16, 2012 | Journal Entry
Roberto and I have been developing a friendship. Since I have arrived in León, Nicaragua, we’ve been working together doing urban ministry trainings in different locations throughout the city. Our mode of travel is Roberto’s motorbike. He drives and I hop on...
by R.R. Tavárez | Jul 17, 2012 | Journal Entry
It’s hot everyday. It’s so humid that you don’t want to move. Not even turn your head. You sweat just by sitting still. Your house sits with its doors and windows open, hoping for whatever breeze that may exist to pass through. You wait for it among the shadows,...
by R.R. Tavárez | Jul 5, 2012 | Journal Entry
Usually, for me, one of the most nerve wrecking things about air travel is air travel. If you get in a car accident, you get out of the car and put your feet on the ground. If a ship starts to sink, you put on a life jacket and swim to shore. When it comes to...
