What it meant to me (a thank you note for the Queen City)

 I have told the story several times: In April of 2018, a few hours after seeing my daughter’s face for the first time (I was still in the hospital), I received a call from the Mayor’s office, telling me that my appointment as Cincinnati’s Poet Laureate was now public, and official. That was the most important day of my life.

I carried the first months of my appointment while carrying a newborn. I gave several readings and hosted many events while holding my daughter in my arms. They were happy, beautifully busy times.

But I must not forget to tell you that, back then, I was not an American Citizen: I was a Mexican citizen, living on a green card in the United States, while I was also the Cincinnati Poet Laureate, and these were times of extreme anti-Mexican rhetoric coming from the highest office in US politics. I read and heard how we, Mexicans, were portrayed and insulted. I read news about children at the border while holding my daughter in my arms. It was impossible not to take it personally. I was often sad, angry, and scared.

Nevertheless, I tried to keep the dignity of the Poet Laureate’s position and used my voice and my influence to foster community and human understanding. I organized a monthly series of poetry readings called “All we have in common,” in which people from every single walk of life could talk about a central theme (love, belonging, strength, home... ). These readings essentially happened in non-traditional spaces: Non-profits, a laundry mat, a culinary school...

I was never (it is not my style) politically belligerent. Still, I was then —as I am now—fully aware of the political implications of reading my poems in English and Spanish while also talking about the importance of love, fatherhood, and dialogue, during a very volatile time. I did not shy away from my own identity, nor from the love I have for a city that is my home, and a country that is now my homeland.

Sadly, by 2019 I was informed that the Cincinnati Poet Laureate program, after only two poets, had no sponsors anymore and therefore was going to be discontinued forever. I was not ready to let that happen and, following the advice of Pauletta Hansel, I decided to start the dialog between the City of Cincinnati and the Mercantile Library with the hopes to keep the program alive. It was a very long year, full of hope of saving the program and also full of frustrations.

By the end of my tenure in 2020, the program was not saved yet, and the pandemic hit. All political tensions became even sharper: the presidential election, and the many social protests sparked by the murder of George Floyd, defined the social climate of the whole country. Understandably, the poet laureate program was not a priority for any institution.

It was time to wait. I also had to protect myself and my family.

 I started calling myself “Poet Laureate Emeritus” in December of 2020 and was determined not to be the last Cincinnati Poet Laureate. I asked friends for help, and the dialogue between the Mercantile and the city continued. By late-2021, after many months of hoping and waiting (I was not part of the dialog anymore), the Cincinnati Poet Laureate program, officially picked up by the Mercantile library, had a new selection committee, an official call for papers, and a plan for the future. I didn’t have the energy to be happy anymore, but I was relieved. I did have, however, my reasons to celebrate: I became an American citizen on those very same days.

Last week, another bi-cultural poet, my admired friend Yalie Kamara, was inaugurated as the new Cincinnati Poet Laureate. Her appointment makes me happy and hopeful for the Cincinnati Poet Laureate Program's future and the future of the city. She is a poet of honesty and strength. Being a Sierra Leonean-American writer, she knows the importance and difficulty of using beauty to defend and nurture the dignity of every individual. Yalie is a true poet and a great human being.

Cincinnati friends: this is not a farewell letter, but a thank you note to this beautiful city.

I am not going anywhere, and I will keep using poetry to bring people together.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you for your support, friendships, and kindness.

I love you.

We belong.