Burn Me Back

"e;My Spanglish,"e; Peggy Robles-Alvarado declares, "e;drops the -s and makes it ma' o meno',"e; replaces accent marks with side-eye, "e;has a Tia sin papeles,"e; and recognizes that "e;there is no other way to say- / Conchole papi, you look good!"e; Igniting across tongues, cultures, and countries, the incendiary poems in Burn Me Back harness the incantatory power of language through hybrid forms, preserving a beloved father's memory, enshrining the legacy of the Latino immigrant community in Washington Heights and the Bronx, reimagining the world we share, and speaking toward a hopeful multiplicity of possible futures. At the cross section of Puerto Rican and Dominican diasporas, rooted in ancestral narratives and infused with generational dislocation, this speaker refuses to abandon what resists translation, makes the space she needs, and transforms objects as she names them: "e;My Spanglish knows a fire escape is also a terrace."e; Yes, the language here is a feat of engineering - a design shaped by the conditions of emergency, an architecture of survival, deliverance to open air. Like isolating the notes in a thunderous chord, Robles-Alvarado dexterously teases out each word's many meanings, listening for the individual strains that created her as she archives family lore and fleshes out her personal history, writing against patriarchy while codifying working-class wisdom. She reconstructs a whole genealogy in "e;What They Mean by Papers,"e; reciting a negative litany of "e;papeles."e; "e;Not the Daily News or El Diario La Prensa, / or the kind my mother read to me on Sunday / mornings,"e; her "e;throat full of / pelitos de mango,"e; "e;Not the kind Tia Weltina used to roll her tobacco with,"e; "e;conjuring / Taino spirits she exhaled ... as she tried to memorize the national anthem,"e; but the kind "e;Uncle Rito forged"e; while he "e;learned to curl the R in his name / as if writing sacred geometry,"e; "e;the kind that convinced four of my aunts to marry older / naturalized men in exchange for an acre of my grandfather's campo"e; - the kind that required the rest of their lives as payment, "e;their bodies, / all their milk and honey, all their amber and cana dulce / sacrificed to the lust of viejos verdes, old bastards / who soured early on too much tabaco y ron and wanted to plant / their moldy seeds in supple girls who had never seen snow."e; Robles-Alvarado orchestrates the fullness of her song by refusing to leave anyone out, by making room for a term's contradictory definitions and playing through discordant combinations until the dissonance resolves. What began as an elegy composed by a daughter lost in mourning becomes an expansive arrangement sounding rupture and repair. This music travels between loss and recovery, addiction and sobriety, the cooling embers of lost childhood and the heat of the present, this very moment in which you could reach out to the people around you and ask them to be here with you for every scalding second, the warmth of your skin against theirs posing a burning question - an invitation to burn you back.