Jose Padua: A poem in which chocolate is a metaphor for the great power hidden inside us
When my daughter asks why we are eating chocolate when we’re supposed to be eating just healthy food now that we’re on diets I explain to her that chocolate contains … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Socialism
In the town of Front Royal where I live I am a socialist. I live there with my socialist wife and my socialist daughter and my socialist son. We think … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Memo in the form of a sonnet to the white supremacist who referred to my wife as a breeding vessel for the Hispanic invasion
Despite my name being Jose I am not Hispanic but Filipino, which means that as far as you’re concerned my white wife is not a breeding vessel for the Hispanic … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Love is like Arkansas
Love is like Arkansas, a little bit backward sometimes. The best days are slow, simple, like white rice and black beans on a paper plate for lunch. The worst are … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Relativity
My mother cried when my father took his first trip back home to the Philippines. I don’t remember how old I was, just that I was too young to understand … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Lowlife
I have suffered through one million broken hearts; been slain countless times by convulsions of laughter brought about by the clever absurdity of puns, jokes, and witticisms; kept my … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Then I Will Tell You a Story about Blue Butterflies…
Then I Will Tell You a Story about Blue Butterflies That Fly Higher Than Your Heart Rises Just Before a Great Fall These are the towns in Pennsylvania … Continue reading
Jose Padua: To The Old Man Walking And All the Other Scary People In The World
Today I discovered that the guy I always see walking down my street, a friendly looking old man to whom I’ll nod and wave and who always waves back, is … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Jump
I’m five, in 1962, jumping over and over from the sofa to the rug in our apartment on the second floor at 19th and S Street, jumping to the orchestral … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Every Man for Himself
The brother nods back silently to me as he places my jar of honey with ginger in a paper bag at the monastery store in Berryville. Why would such a … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Coming Home
Originally posted on Shenandoah Breakdown:
When the policeman tells me to pull over to the curb because the woman with the pearly white smile just told him that I nearly…
Jose Padua: Breaking Bread
Although we call it breaking bread there are few acts of breaking less violent than this, and though dinners sometimes erupt, and lunches boil over into menace and disgust, the … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Baltimore
I realize I quote her as often as Allen Ginsberg quoted Jack Kerouac, but when she was three my daughter said, “It’s not crazy—it’s Baltimore,” then proceeded to improvise better … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Why I Can’t Stand To Watch The Game Anymore
Because I can’t bear the sight of these middle-aged men declaring the next day that the firing of six bullets into an unarmed black man was necessary and justified and … Continue reading →