How many Look at things through Manichean lenses Polarizing into Chiaroscuro starkness And think they have the whole picture
Red and yellow and pink and green… Photo by Brett Sayles on Pexels.com
I try to look Not only at the shades of grey But across a broader spectrum Where others see only black and white And think themselves well bleached
I know I am deeply stained Both with ink and otherwise Unlike the Scottish lady at play That I cannot get those spots out And even so There are hues I miss
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Today marks the victory of Mexico over France at Puebla, and, in the part of the world where I grew up and where I live again, it is spent as a celebration of Mexican culture. (Admittedly, where I am used to be Mexico, but it wasn’t still Mexico at the time Puebla happened. Oh, no, there was another war going on, and this part of the world was on the wrong side of it.) Given how much of the rest of the year a lot of people here spend decrying that culture, the observance strikes me as odd to disingenuous to hypocritical to appropriative and reductionist, at least as many make the observance. But then, that’s hardly unique to this day, as I think I might’ve mentioned a fewtimesbefore.
It’s admittedly not a holiday meal for me, but just a regular dinner. Photo by Chitokan C. on Pexels.com
For me, the day is something that attracts attention; again, I live where I live, and, for better or worse, I identify as a resident of that part of the world, so the common observances are part of the identificatory markers. And I confess to some hypocrisy of my own; I do love me some tacos, and they do tend to be on special on Cinco de Mayo. It’s far removed from the origination of the observance, and it doesn’t do me any credit, thought it does contribute to my waistline being what it is.
There is this, too: My wife and child are both Hispanic, specifically of Mexican descent. My wife’s grandmother, though born in the US, grew up south of the Rio Grande; her parents hailed from there, if memory serves, or her grandparents did. So they, at least, have the more direct tie, and I am happy to celebrate their heritage with them, even if I do not share it myself. It is part of who they are, even if it is not the part they necessarily foreground; I am rather quite fond of the both of them, so why should I not laud what contributes to making them who they are, so long as it does not hurt them?
But then, given how things are in this part of the world and many others, perhaps they would come to harm from the acknowledgement of their ancestry. Enough people do so where I can see it, and I look in few places and with poor eyesight; there is surely far more of it of which I am unaware.
Funny how that kind of thing can work out.
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Plant in the season Fertilize the fields Reap when the time comes But the rains will fail sometimes And some seeds Despite the best tending Never sprout Or Germinating Become plants that never bear fruit
Perhaps hope once sprang here. Photo by David Bartus on Pexels.com
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They say to Set your course by your own North Star Pick out Polaris and plot out a path But they do not realize that Over the years Even that star drifts across the sky
None of them stand still forever… Photo by Free Nature Stock on Pexels.com
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Elliott RWI 