Poet Sara Borjas Helps Us Imagine a Post-Covid Party
Written by Olivia Muñoz, LCF 's Economic Justice Program Manager
Words have the power to move us—they can make us laugh, remember those we love, and help us find the strength to continue striving for change. They are the building blocks for the stories that make us real.
As we round the corner on this pandemic, we know that holistic care is necessary to truly heal from so much tragedy. This is why the Latino Community Foundation incorporates the arts in all its events—even the virtual ones! In 2021, we have featured Latinx poets at the beginning of each convening, including Yosimar Reyes pumping us up from L.A., Gabriel Cortez talking about his Panamanian roots from the Bay Area, and most recently by Sara Borjas from the Central Valley.
Sara calls herself a Chicana, a pocha, and a Fresno poet. She earned a BA in English Literature from California State University, Fresno, and a MFA from the University of California, Riverside, where she now teaches in the creative writing program. Her first book, a collection of poetry called Heart like a Window, Mouth like a Cliff, won an American Book Award in 2020.
We’re proud to honor these artists this #NationalPoetryMonth and every month. The cultural grounding they provide resonates with our spirits. And our spirits need it.
Sara debuted a new piece, “In Your Honor, We Are Going To Have a Giant Latinx-Ass Party,” during LCF's event A Year on the Frontlines of COVID-19 on April 1. The poem delights in the resilient, celebratory spirit that fuels the Latinx community and looks toward a future where we can party once again. She dedicates the piece to the frontline workers—and to all of us—who continue to work through this pandemic.
Please take a second to read Sara's poem below or watch here.
In Your Honor, We Are Going To Have a Giant Latinx-Ass Party
by Sara Borjas
And if you’re old enough to be here, even if you
don’t recognize it as work, you earned this:
You. The essential, the caretakers, who made
each space safe. Who swept your hands over
each surface, adorned each tool, each door
to a loved one, each aisle in each grocery store,
each bench we rested, each mirror
we pep-talked ourselves in, And you—the essential
who nurtured the lettuce harvested the tomatoes
inspected the peaches loved the alfalfa the walnuts
the grapes the cantaloupes the cotton, you
who loaded the trucks, drove the trucks,
fixed the trucks, unloaded the trucks,
cooked the meals, dressed our children,
burped our children, watched our children,
held and fed our babies, fed the world, then
went home and fed your children, fed
yourselves, fixed your truck, held your baby
held your husband held your wife held
your lover, in honor of you we are here
to drink the Tecate and the Martinelli’s
and the 24 packs of Pepsi and dance
with our cousins and friends and tias
and dads and the babies we haven’t
yet held because of you—the essential
the teachers who soothe and listen
to our students babysitting their brothers
and sisters, who help our children feel
comfortable in whatever space they can
find to work in. And you, the essential.
The children who translated for us, who
communicated complex conversations
between our parents and doctors and
nurses, you, who represented the household
to landlords, you, who became the lawyers
the record keepers the poets of our families
in honor of you we are going to eat all
the cake and paletas and in all the backyards
in all the neighborhoods in every town
in honor of you—the essential, the caretakers
who take us to our appointments, who lose to us
in daytime poker, who hate the same
characters on TV we do! Who help us
to our favorite chair at noon, who cook
the lunch that reminds us of El Salvador,
Guatemala, Honduras, the DR, Cuba,
Valenzuela, Mexico, Puerto Rico.
You! Who comb our hair and keep us
looking fly, who press our favorite shirts
and dresses and make us feel
twenty-something again, we are going
to sing each emotion we didn’t have
the capacity to feel, so loud,
it’s unfathomable. So long, it’s eternal
and there’s going to be millions of golden
microphones and PA systems on wheels
flashing with blue lights and entire bands
behind us and while we are talking about
bands—you! The essential, the mariachis,
the artists the vendors the musicians and
painters the barbers the manicurists
the hairstylists the line cooks the hospitality
workers the plant store owners the gardeners
the carpenters the plumbers electricians
the chefs who make the day-to-day sing
on intersections and freeway offramps
in corner stores in rented chairs. You,
who imagine the thing so it can be thought.
You. the essential, the small business owners,
the dreamers, the relentless, the ambitious,
the believers—let’s drink all the margaritas
and the agua frescas and buy out every
Food 4 Less and Vallarta and Save Mart
and Dollar Tree of decorations and Hot
Cheetos and candy necklaces and foil trays,
in honor of you: birria pupusas pizza
platanos ceviche baleadas sopes
chile rellenos arepas strawberry soda
horchata Pacifico fancy tequila fancy mezcal
fancy whiskey fancy everything!
We are going to pass all the knowledge
and culture (and the chisme too) that’s
been on pause, the elders to the babies,
the sisters to the brothers, the ancestors
to the ancestors and we will share
the things we learned we needed,
the things we learned we did not need,
the stories that made us doubt, the stories
that keep us going, the stories about our future,
which we will call a party, a future we worked our
asses off for, one we earned, one that does not stop
Listen to Sara's poem HERE!
Follow her @saraborhaz
Website: http://www.saraborjas.com/