Anon, who wrote so many poems without signing them, was often a woman.

— Virginia Woolf

On Being Called Jorge

by José Angel Araguz

I imagine a city where names,

like taxis, are interchangeable,

a place where Jorge, Juan, and Javier,

and every other man I am

pass each other on the street

and smile, aware that they are one.

I see it for myself: Jorge

in a café crying, Juan handing him

a tissue, Javier slamming his book,

asking them to keep it down.

Tomorrow, you can be Jorge. Tomorrow,

you can be Juan, Javier—whoever

you think I am. Tonight, I am you

blindly in love with what’s in a name.

 

 

Also by José Angel Araguz: Freckles

A CantoMundo fellow, JOSÉ ANGEL ARAGUZ has had poems recently in Huizache and Salamander. He is a PhD candidate in Creative Writing and Literature at the University of Cincinnati. Author of six chapbooks and the collection Everything We Think We Hear, he runs the poetry blog The Friday Influence.

 

The truth may be stretched thin, but it never breaks, and it always surfaces above lies, as oil floats on water.

—Cervantes, Don Quixote

© 2016 The Indianola Review