The Poet X
byElizabeth Acevedo
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The world is almost peaceful
when you stop trying
to understand it.
Sometimes questions are for educational purposes; the answers expand our horizons, increase our knowledge, enable us to become better, more self-aware people. There are many questions, though, that are not really questions at all, but a succession of things that we don't understand that continue to eat away at us because they cannot easily be answered. These more obscure questions make it seem as though the world is overly complicated, somewhat hostile, and very difficult to understand. Yet if we stop trying to understand everything, and accept that there are just going to be things in the world that we don't understand, then there is a certain kind of peace that comes with that. There is very little that is more frustrating than not being able to understand something, but by letting go of that need to understand it, we can find peace with the world.
My brother was birthed a soft whistle:
quiet, barely stirring the air, a gentle sound.
But i was born all the hurricane he needed
to lift—and drop—those that
hurt him to the ground.
This verse explains to the reader Acevedo's identity as protective big sister. As siblings, she and her brother are entirely different people, he as meek as she is bold. Yet having a sister like Xiomara gives Xavier the confidence to stand up for himself, and to begin to break free of the people who are bringing him down.
Just because your father's present,
doesn't mean he isn't absent.
This is an extremely salient observation about the nature of parenting: physically present is not the same thing as emotional presence or mental presence. A father can be present physically but if he does not engage with a child, he is still not a presence in their life. A father can be present but still create a distance between himself and his family, either by intention or by accident, but a father who is not physically present all the time but is completely engaged with his child in an emotional sense is far more present than a father who is a constant physical presence but disengaged from the children he lives with.
And I think about all the things we could be
if we were never told our bodies were not built for them.
As she leans into poetry and her social life at school, Xiomara becomes increasingly aware of how she is changing. The way she was taught in her household to view herself as a woman is no longer applicable. She is invited into a more empowered, self-actualized perspective thanks to her peers, teachers, and books. Consequently, Xiomara experiences a sort of grief. She is enjoying the awakening of her consciousness, but she mourns for her younger self and all the women (and even men, as it is Aman who provokes this thought when he shares his father never wanted him to pursue ice skating) she's known who spent so much time believing they were lesser than because they did not fit into a patriarchal, conservative view of gender.
'Burn it! Burn it.
This is where the poems are,' I say,
thumping a fist against my chest.
'Will you burn me, too?'
When Xiomara's mother finds her poetry book and makes rage-filled objections to the ideas she expressed within its pages, she takes the book away and burns it, as if that would solve the "problem." Xiomara forces Mami to confront her own close-mindedness when she adamantly declares that the book is just a book. The words on the page are only a manifestation of herself, which Mami cannot take from her. She dares her to try and destroy her in the same way she is destroying the pieces of her which they can tangibly hold. In these visceral terms, Xiomara explains how she experiences Mami's rejection of her poetry as a rejection of Xiomara's self.
I scope out this block I've always called home.
The novel is rooted in a place—Spanish Harlem—and that place is central to the main character's development. Harlem in the novel is a vibrant scene, a place that people from all over central and southern American move to to start a new life and raise their families. It is bold and loud and sometimes dangerous, and can feel tense given the dynamics between different generations and racial/ethnic groups; additionally, there is the troubling reality that America does not always welcome its immigrants with open arms or give them opportunities to succeed. Regardless of such concerns, it is home. It is a place that shaped Xiomara and a place that she hopes to shape with her words.
...how he never has to do half the cleaning sh*t I do
but is better liked by Mami.
Xiomara and her brother may be twins, but their parents treat them very differently. There is a palpable gender bias, with Xavier having to do less work around the house, not having his body commented upon, being encouraged to date (though they do not know he is gay), being taken at his word and not told to diminish himself, and generally having more freedom and autonomy. This is galling to Xiomara, especially as she sees the roots of such patriarchal preference in the religion she is supposed to be embracing.
Me: writing pages and pages about a boy
and reciting them to myself like a song, like a prayer.
Xiomara often intertwines religion with poetry and music. She grew up in the church and though she is filled with religious doubts, she cannot help but bring those elements of religion into her current worldview. She sees her poetry as something nurturing, fulfilling, cathartic—much like religious people who find comfort in prayer. This shows that she and her mother are alike than they both might be willing to acknowledge.
...we walk together
to the train after school.
listening to music or just enjoying the quiet.
There is a powerful motif of silence in the novel, and that silence is usually depicted as lonely and restricting. For example, Xiomara retreats into silence after Mami cruelly punishes her and Aman does not stick up for her; she is also just generally silent around her mother because she does not want to talk back. However, in this brief account of Xiomara and Aman's budding relationship, silence is okay—in fact, this is a healthy silence, and that is telling. Xiomara is not hiding anything or biting her tongue; it is okay for her to be loud with Aman and okay to be quiet.
And so, I love this quote because even though it's not about poetry, it IS about poetry.
At the very end of the novel Xiomara completes her assignment for Ms. Galiano without needing a rough draft first. She responds to the prompt asking what her favorite quote is by, perhaps surprisingly, referencing a verse in Psalms. At first it might seem odd given Xiomara's antipathy towards religion and the Church, but it is actually a demonstration of how much she's matured. She still has questions and she is holding fast to her own assertions and beliefs, but she is able to appreciate some of the Bible and its teachings. She is not wholly close-minded; she finds value in the text, particularly its celebration of song and verse.
