“Would you look at that” I thought to myself as I directed my eyes to the sky. I was wearing a special kind of glasses while trying to look at the sun.
The news had been talking about that event for days “a solar Eclipse” they said “an event that takes place only once every twenty years”. Some of my friends had decided to visit family or friends at nearby states just so they could witness the moment when the moon passes between Earth and the Sun, obscuring the view of the Sun from that small part of Earth. I questioned their decision “why drive hours away, just so they could find themselves if only for a few minutes engulfed in darkness”? “You don’t understand” they responded “you have to witness the totality”. Their response got me thinking about my wife. She has spent years, driving twice a week from our home in Chicago to teach writing to incarcerated individuals. The last year she has been part of a Saturday writers’ group with the guys in the inside, that have master degrees and work as tutors during the week. And almost every week she would show me the multiple poems, essays or stories written by them. Then she would say to me “you have to visit my writing group”. “Can you get me in” I would ask. “I am not sure” she would reply. But to be honest, I am a person of color. I wasn’t afraid that they wouldn’t let me in, I was afraid they would not let me out. Finally, a few months ago my busy schedule as a storyteller finally allowed me to aligned my days off with the days she goes there. “If you want to join me, I can sign you up as a volunteer” my wife said. I didn’t like the word volunteer. I wasn’t excited about spending my day off working without getting paid. “Come on” my wife said “we can have some quality time together in the drive there and back home”. I can’t say no to her. And so, the week after, I found my path aligned with the scheduled time with the writers group. “How about you share some of your stories and brake down your writing process”? my wife suggested as I was introduced to the group. The last couple of years, I have taught storytelling workshops at schools, colleges, and companies so I figured this would be just another workshop. However, what I witnessed that day eclipsed all my expectations. In just a matter of hours they understood and memorized the fundamentals of storytelling. The following week they had incorporated some of those elements to their writing and only a few weeks later, they had organized a storytelling slam of their own. The day of the event, I was invited to listen and give points to the storytellers participating in the slam. I found myself engulf in darkness, but not due to the absence of light but because of the brilliance of their writing. And yes, some of them have been giving sentences for heinous crimes, but the stories didn’t focus on that. Some stories were funny, some stories were sad; but they all showed a level of vulnerability that is often shunned in a prison environment. But there are days when my schedule is busy, and I am not able to go with my wife to the prison writers’ group. “don’t you worry about her safety”? a friend once asked me when he learned about my wife’s work. NO, I am not afraid for her safety. I remember the day of the eclipse, after I was done looking at the Sun. “Do you want to see the eclipse”? I asked a young lady standing nearby. I was offering my glasses to her. “No” she said shaking her head her head for emphasis “I am afraid to look” Sadly, that’s the way most people feel about incarcerated individuals, they refused to see them as humans, they see them just as criminals, monsters that need to be punish. If wish they would take the time to meet them on their path of correction and see their growing phases. I wish I could give people a special kind of glasses so they can see incarcerated individuals, not by their rap sheets or the color or their skins but by the context of their character and the splendor of their totality. The previous was published as part of Writing from Both Sides of the Moon Writ112 writers’ collective, founded at Stateville Correctional Center. for more information visit the web site Writing From Both Sides of the Moon
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Lo sospeche desde un principio
la gente te dijo que no te juntes con esta chusma es que no me te tienen paciencia, mas no contaban con mi astucia y ahora nadie podrá detenernos. Aprovéchate de mí nobleza y quiéreme con querer queriendo no es milagro que vine por acá vine a traerte mi amor como un humilde obsequio. Aunque la gente diga que tú y yo estamos locos invítame a tomar una tacita de café te prometo que no seré mucha molestia ámame, ámame que me desespero. Que no panda el cunico todos mis movimientos están fríamente calculados Anda, di que sí, di que sí, di que si Eso, eso, eso. . . PERDON (I'm sorry)
For thinking it was your fault that I had a tangle-up tongue that asphyxiated my words killing them slowly with stuttering grunts. PERDON because in the reclusive hush I learned to organize my thoughts writing down my feelings when I couldn't talk and it was in that silence that I found my voice.. For the day I asked where were you when I got hurt? when I was weak and my enemy strong when my childhood ended when I was still too young PERDON because you put the strength inside of my soul to get back on my feet in spite of being hurt and someday help myself and those that can't carry the cross.. For the day when I cursed my luck at living in the misery of a country of the third world raised between poverty, disease and war PERDON because it was there that I learned the benefits of hard work learning that honesty, health and love have much more value than precious gold.. For the day I turned my back at you and refused to pray when life went wrong and I lost my faith I took my leave and became astray PERDON Because you always have keep me safe even as I stormed off and walked away you guided my steps to where I am today. PERDON for my ego and my vanity fueled by my childishness and stupidity PERDON for my rage and obstinacy sustained by my fear and incompetency PERDON that it took me so long to understand that GOD you work in mysterious ways. Nestor Gomez 2/20/2015 ( 1 /23/2024) Crossing
I used to think that relationships, those between two people in love were like stepping stones... that they helped you get to the other side of the river of life you are meant to cross but somehow early in life, I started to find myself tripping, falling; running out of stones on which to step and so I changed my mindset and I started to believe that relationships were more like boats that they help you cross, keep you safe while they float but somehow in my life I found myself sinking, sea sick, rowing to nowhere and so I changed my thinking again deciding that relationships where like a bridge that made the crossing of the river of life, a breeze and so I found myself not pleased when many of them went up on flames and the only few I did not set ablaze ended up collapsing under my weight. In matters of love, I deemed myself; a colossal fail I gave up my search for true love quest resign on spending life by myself and that’s when I saw swimming by that someone special, my other half The one that showed me, that love is not what I thought is not a bridge, is not a boat, and it is definitely not; a stepping stone. love is what helps you stay afloat as you swim each day, stroke by stroke sometimes the current might push you apart some days the current is nice and calm but those changes are just part of life, its downs and ups although you must still the river cross and you must do it all on your own love is what helps you stay afloat and when the end of your time comes and you find yourself in the other shore you might not find yourself alone you might find the one you love waiting, welcoming you home. Nestor Gomez 5/3/2017 Ten fingers, ten toes
let me count the feelings since the moment you came into my world One. The Ecstasy I felt the day I found out that you were in your mother's womb Two. Tenderness, when I saw you for the first time that day when you were born Three. wonderment, the first time I held you in my arms in awe.. Four. Happiness, the day you came home Five. Proud, as friends and family showered you with love Six. Excited, when you mustered your first words Seven. Scared, those nights when the only thing you seemed to want to do was cry Eight. Overjoyed, with the silly faces or noises that made you laugh Nine. Exhausted, because my parents were right, parenting it’s a difficult task Ten. Blessed, for every single second that you have been in my life Eleven. Astonished, at how little I mind that my own life seems on pause Twelve. Cautious, checking a thousand times, each night, on you Thirteen. Trepidation, as I watched the first step you took Fourteen. Pain, every single time that you got hurt Fifteen. Hopeful, that your life will be long and mine will too Sixteen. Resolute, that there is not a thing I wouldn’t do for you Seventeen. Surprise, that by teaching you about life I learned as much as I taught Eighteen. Mystified, that your presence in my life could bring so much joy Nineteen. Impotence, whenever you get sick and I wish I could make you feel better Twenty. In love, realizing that you will have me counting forever... Nestor Gomez 5/25/17 Wave and Sand
Ola y Arena You were a wave that came to beach on my sand Tu fuiste una ola que mi playa vio llegar covering me tenderly without giving me time to react me cubriste tiernamente sin darme tiempo a reaccionar before I realized, I had tasted your salt cuando menos me di cuenta, ya había probado de tu sal you soaked me completely in that loving way you have empapaste mis arenas con tu esencia, tu humedad erasing any footprints that had been left before you arrived. y borraste cualquier huella, que antecedieron tu llegar. The tenderness of your character La ternura de la espuma, de tu personalidad left no space in me, that didn’t get wet no dejo en mi arena alguna, que no se quiso mojar you formed a lagoon, insinuating that you’d stay tu formaste una laguna insinuando no marchar but you are a wave and turned back to the sea in the end pero al cabo siendo ola, te volviste hacia el mar dragging my dream, which to swim never bothered to learn. arrastrando mis anhelos, los que no sabian nadar. It is in vain for me to wait, you are never coming back Es en vano que te espere, se que no has de regresar you have gone to other places with the tide la marea que te trajo te ha llevado a otro lugar but from the encounter, of your water and my sand mas de aquel encuentro nuestro, de tu agua y mi arenal you will carry parts of me wherever you are llevaras en ti vestigios del arena de mi amar the same way I still conserve the memory of your salt. asi como yo aun conservo, el recuerdo de tu sal. I know that someday, I will forget your love Se que un dia con el tiempo de tu amor me he de olvidar because your memory will dry out like water in the sun porque el sol de la distancia tu recuerdo a de secar but inside me I still discover your moisture, at least for now mas por ahora en mis adentros, aún descubro tu humedad because you reached deep inland where no one did before pues tu llegaste tierra adentro donde nadie antes jamás and in my sand I still keep the smell of your salt. y mi arena aun conserva, la fragancia de tu sal. Nestor Gomez 3/31/2015 Nestor Gomez 7/19/2013 because you see me waving a flag
that does not contains stripes and stars and it enrages you to see my delight without taking the time to know that my pride is born from the pain of being so far for so long, from my native land. - (Hyphenated) American because you scream at me that “your” language I must learn meanwhile, you can’t even pronounce my name but I’m not surprised that you can’t manage to learn one word when your history of oppression, you still refuse to learn and own. - (Hyphenated) American you confuse the Hyphen with a minus sign adding a prefix to your narrative of who I am in your eagerness to minimize my worth you forget that adding doesn’t make me less, it makes me more you ignore that one day I took an oath in front of a judge and I was declared by my pledge and by the law not African-American nor Native-American not Latin-American nor Asian-American not - (Hyphenated) American, just American; SAME AS YOU. Nestor Gomez 04/22/2019 |
Nestor Gomez
Thoughts and Things I think about from time to time
June 2025
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