Tortilla Flat

By Sarah G. Huerta

Danny dies at the end.
I average out to reading about
one Steinbeck novel
per year. The year I attempted
suicide, I picked my way
through his first success
after waking on my way home,
making use of my life
after its two-day pause.
Back home, I picked up
the kaleidoscope of pills
scattered on my bathroom floor,
stoic while sweeping and tearing
up the note scribbled
in gold gel pen. The ghost
of the tally marks
marking the number
I swallowed
lingered on my arm.

The year after I attempted
suicide, I struggled through
my textbook for Chicano lit,
taking in all the out-of-print
pages had to offer. I found
Steinbeck’s Danny under
scrutiny – a Mexican turned
insane by lack of meaning.
I found meaning after
we died. I lived
to find him dead. Bipolar
and bilingual as I am,
I’m glad I didn’t die
a cliche, like Danny.

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Sarah G. Huerta is a Chicana poet from Dallas. They will begin their MFA at Texas State University in the fall. They currently live in Texas with their cat, Lorca.