Tuesday, September 6, 2022

Crying in the Bathroom (Poet E. L. Sanchez)

Andrea Gutierrez (It's Been a Minute, NPR); Crystal Quintero, CC Liu (eds.), Wisdom Quarterly
I feel a bit cuckoo, too! (Erika Buenaflor)
Mexican-American author Erika L. Sánchez was making her dreams come true in 2017, her young adult novel I Am Not Your Perfect Mexican Daughter earning critical acclaim.

But even as she rose to fame, Sánchez found herself struggling with her mental health. Her new memoir, Crying in the Bathroom: A Memoir, captures the tension between her public success and her private suffering — and more.

Erika should meditate. Right, Dick? - Yeah, Lisa
Princeton University Professor Sánchez talks with guest host Anna Sale about sharing some of her darkest moments with readers (like being a bipolar poet), caring for her mental health, and what she's learned from her personal cartoon role model — Lisa Simpson.

If considering suicide, contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1(800) 273-8255 (En Español: 1(888) 628-9454; Deaf and Hard of Hearing: 1(800) 799-4889) or the Crisis Text Line by texting HOME to 741741.


POEM: Kingdom of Debt

According to a report from the University of San Diego’s Justice in Mexico project, 138,000 people have been murdered in Mexico since 2006.

They call it the corner of heaven:
a laboratory, a foot at the throat
of an empire. Before the holy
dirt, the woman with the feline gait
waits with tangled hair, mouth
agape — the letter X marked
on what’s left of her breasts
and face. Nuestra Belleza
Mexicana. A roped mule
watches a man place a crown
on her severed head. Tomorrow
the queen will be picked clean
by the kindness of the sea.
Shuttered shops and empty
restaurants. Stray dogs couple
in a courtyard. Under a swaying
palm tree, a cluster of men
finger golden pistols, whisper,
aquí ni se paran las moscas.
Two boys, transfixed, watch
a pixelated video: a family fed
to a swarm of insatiable pigs.
A butcher sweeps blood
from an empty street. Death
is my godmother, he repeats.
Death is a burnt mirror.
When the crackling stereo
dithers between stations — amor
de mis amores, sangre de mi alma — 
a gaggle of silent children
gather before a sputtering
trash bin. Together they watch
the terror hover like flies.

Source: Poetry (December 2015)

This episode was produced by Andrea Gutierrez. It was edited by Jessica Mendoza. Engineering help came from Stuart Rushfield. Executive producer was Veralyn Williams. Follow on Twitter @NPRItsBeenAMin and email at IBAM@npr.org.

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