Jose Padua: And It Was Early Spring in the Hour of Insects
On the night before my daughter’s first soccer game of the season I offer her some practical instruction and advise her that if you kick the ball into the wrong … Continue reading
Jose Padua: For the Famous Writers School and All the Hungry Years to Come
By the time my mother had placed the ad from The Famous Writers School on the dining room table for me to see— the ad that asked “Are you one … Continue reading
Jose Padua: My Father Remembers Many Legends
My father remembers many legends, but what he lives with everyday are the things he sees first hand with failing eyes, eyes that can still see when my late mother, … Continue reading
Michael Simms: A Note from the Editor on the Vagaries of Publishing Poetry on the Internet
Once again, a poet has emailed me, peeved that a poem of hers that appeared in Vox Populi is not anything like the version she sent me. The line-endings and … Continue reading
Jose Padua: And So the Brightness of Evening
The end of the day is
like a polishing of time. You wipe
the table, I listen to its clearing from
the living room then take the plastic
bags of trash out the front door.
Jose Padua: Recollection During a Light Storm in the Valley
On 14th Street near Avenue B I’m walking in New York City during the short middle of a long summer day behind a lovely, young, brown-skinned mother pushing her child … Continue reading
Jose Padua: How the Blues They Send to Meet Me Don’t Defeat Me and Other Easy-Listening Favorites
This is what it’s like living with me. My wife, not feeling well but having to work, works at home like me today and sits across the table. “Do you … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Thieves Like Us
When a civilian once asked me who in the world of poetry do you trust, I said no one. We are always telling each other lies, I said, creating metaphors … Continue reading
Jose Padua: The Slow Glittering of Far-Flung Diamonds
I almost bought a $98 chicken this morning. I know the first question some friends will ask is why I’m still eating meat, especially when it’s probably coming from the … Continue reading
Jose Padua: On the Cool Blue Steel of Sound in 1965 or ’66
I must have been eight or nine sitting on the long bench with the soft black cushions at the Filipino barber shop on the edge of Chinatown, watching the old … 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 justified or that the … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Works and Days
When my daughter was two and we lived in the suburbs she got a big rag doll and when we asked her what she wanted to name it she shook … Continue reading
Jose Padua: Every Evening Is a Train in the Unending Speed of Days
Every evening is a train. The floor is covered with toys, and every minute of the day a moment to imagine how colors begin, how sound arises from solid objects, … Continue reading
Jose Padua: And If You Think I Need You There Are a Million Rivers for Us to Ride
Sunday afternoon and my neighbor is singing Olivia Newton John via the Bee Gees’ “Come on Over” in Spanish louder than Avenue B traffic and several car alarms combined which … Continue reading
