Jose Padua: The Color of Bourbon and Other Observations on the Landscape of the Valley Where We Live
. This past Saturday, Heather, Maggie, Julien, and I were going south on Route 11 just outside of downtown Harrisonburg, Virginia. We were there for a quick, cheap, winter getaway … Continue reading
Jose Padua: In These Insufferable Dreams
In these insufferable dreams I am becalmed by sweet monsters of joy—unfamiliar faces that move with jagged motions as in an old film, color photographs pulled from a wrinkled envelope … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Bold as Love
It was my end of the summer visit back home— to DC, from New York, from the train full of bad snacks and half-cold beer, and when I got to … Continue reading
Jose Padua: On the Realization that Miracles are the Result of Hard Labor
“I’m not having one of those things coming out of me,” my six year old daughter says, meaning babies, “No way!” She pokes her head up from the back seat … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Blue
When I was young I would say that my favorite color was blue. Blue was the color of the sky, the color of the clothes I most liked to wear, … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Sabotage
In the middle of the crowd this woman standing next to me swinging her hips, doing a dance that looks like a leisurely swim except she’s standing, keeps saying over … Continue reading
Jose Padua: These So Long Days We Spend in the Middle of Things
I always loved the way my mother said the word ‘macapuno,’ which is a kind of coconut that’s sweeter and fleshier than the regular kind. One time after she’d had … Continue reading
Jose Padua: On the Distant Prospect of Three Mile Island
The distant prospect of Three Mile Island from the window of our hotel room this December day reminds me of how underrepresented my people have been in the popular culture … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Beauty Like These Decades While Walking So Slowly in the Sunlight
Two decades ago I’m walking down 18th Street when two beautiful young women walk my way and as we pass by each other one of them looks at me then … Continue reading
Jose Padua: In the Season of Saints and Angels and Other Misfits
Thank you for the 80s, they were some of the most beautiful days I’ll never remember, thank you for the 90s, which I remember more of even though I was … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Bad
When I bought the shiny black leather shoes with the flat front toe and zip-up tongue for my high school play at the 4 Dudes shoe store downtown, the salesman … Continue reading
Jose Padua: It Was 1982 or ’83 and Nelson Mandela Wasn’t Free
It was 1982 or 83 and three of the new workers from the ambassador’s residence who were here in the States for the first time had been over to the … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Avenue Banana
Living on Avenue Banana in the 1990s is not a lot like drinking tea. I look up to the sky. You shout at people driving by in limousines. We eat … Continue reading
Jose Padua: What’s Best About True Greatness Is How Fragile It Is
Strings tuned just right, they can break apart. What keeps the notes together, the words opposing, confronting, complementing, informing one another is this. It’s not just scale or grammar, score … Continue reading
