Bullfight

I am the bull dragged

across a sandy bullring in Cancún,

a carcass, spent and bled to death.

The tourists—Japanese, German, Chicano, and even gringos—

don’t know they just witnessed a travesty, they cheer

a gutted ritual. No honor. No glory.

I gave my life for this?

When I was poked and raced into the ring,

I moved just so,

escaped the ribbon marker.

“Saltillero” me nombraron,

a worthy name, an honorable name.

Puny men tease me,

poke and try to anger me.

They fail.

The banderillero, big as a bull,

rides a horse, poor beast of burden;

pokes and fails.

The sharp knife enters swiftly,

and I know what’s coming. Feel it

as sure as I breathe,

with nostrils wide, huffing.

I see dark pink—the matador’s cape,

      shiny sequins in black and white.

I am color-blind, you say.

So I’ve heard, but I assure you I hear the color,

smell the red of blood and the brown of sun-bronzed skin.

Movement I must follow;

perplexed and tired, I sniff the earth,

following my scent

to the source of death.

He bends, and I hear, “Olé.”

I flick an ear,

the right, then the left;

I flick my tail.

I stand calmly,

appear not interested,

then I follow through

to my imminent end.

The crowd roars and stands;

I lie and die

on a Wednesday afternoon

en Cancún.

Red with beer and sun,

the tourists cheer

amid the stench of blood and sweat.

It’s five o’clock

on a Wednesday in Cancún.

I die.

From Meditación Fronteriza: Poems of Love, Life, and Labor (The University of Arizona Press, 2019) by Norma Cantú. Copyright © 2019 by Norma Cantú. Used with the permission of the publisher and the author.

Norma Elia Cantú earned her AA from Laredo Junior College, her BS in English and political science from Texas A&M International University (TAMIU), her MS from Texas A&M University—Kingsville, and her PhD in English from the University of Nebraska—Lincoln.

Read more here: poets.org/poet/norma-elia-cantu