The Poet X
The Poet X felt like coming home. I felt the presence of the bodegas as if I walked by them with my own two feet. I could almost hear the music, that plays from the speakers of a car that sits on the corner of the block--while the guys man the corner like the police, and the girls pretend not to notice them from the stoop of their building. It's NY personified--and not much has changed.
This book is a reflection of a child hood I've lived, in a similar fashion. I felt Xiomara's character as if it were something written by my own hand--because a lot of what she goes through, what she felt, what she does and doesn't say--is an accurate depiction of some of the ways I've felt, and continue to feel--written in short, succinct, purposeful and poetic prose.
The Poet X is one of those books that read you. You don't read it.
Disturbing, and impressive, The Poet X--is a stellar, and meaningful read. It rattled me, and encouraged me.
My one hope coming out of this, is that this book can fall into the hands of someone--that could be just as affected--thoroughly, and completely.
Acevedo, does a stellar job of reminding us of the both the purposefulness, of words if you listen, really listen--and the powerlessness of them, if you ignore--or silence them.
It's a reminder that you matter, you matter, you matter.