We Had Our Reasons, a groundbreaking new volume of poetry just released from Pulley Press,
offers a startling look into an American community of Mexican farmworkers. Centered around
the town of Othello, in eastern Washington state, this collection by Ricardo Ruiz was written in
collaboration with his friends, family members and coworkers, many of whom are, or were,
migrants. Ruiz—a decorated college graduate, military veteran, former farmworker and
recovering addict—is a gifted poet whose work here ushers in a powerful new voice in American
poetry. See: https://www.poetruiz.com/
We Had Our Reasons follows “the pulley,” a particular form of composition and production.
First, Ruiz brought his passion for poetry and his community to farmers and their families,
people whom he knows well in Eastern Washington, and he engaged with them as storytellers,
encouraging them to document their own histories through interviews that he conducted. Then,
Ricardo highlighted poetic lines in the transcripts, and worked with those to craft poems. When
he had near-final drafts, he returned to the storytellers, asking for their permission to be on the
byline with him and to approve the poems’ journey into print.
Pulley Press founding Editor, Frances McCue (who also co-founded the literary center Richard
Hugo House), says, “Ricardo’s book is the culmination of hard work devoted to storytelling and
a powerful engagement with a community. We are so honored to showcase these poems at Pulley
Press.”
“Each volume brings us into a place far outside the poetry apparatus of America’s big cities and
coastlines,” says McCue. “Pulley Press is interested in the images, psychology, music and
artistry of poets working from places too often overlooked in our literary landscape.”
For questions or more information please contact Frances McCue: frances@pulleypress.com,
206-931-3779. Learn more about Pulley Press on www.pulleypress.com.
Silent Crossing, Sleeping to the Other Side
LORENA AND RICARDO
you slept for two days over-drugged by the coyote†
i gathered all the sounds you should have made
placing them inside the leather bag upon my shoulder
when my steps strained
i opened the satchel and listened
each night
i held your sounds
and know your future’s here
Paso silencioso, durmiendo hasta el otro lado
LORENA Y RICARDO
fueron dos dı́as los que dormiste narcotizado por aquel coyote†
junté todos los sonidos
que deberı́as haber emitido
guardándolos en el bolso de cuero que llevaba en el hombro
cuando se tensaban mis pasos abrı́a el bolso y escuchaba
cada noche
sostuve tus sonidos
y sé que tu futuro está aquı́
Mi Carcachita Azul y el Perro Negro
RICARDO
I slept in the back seat until the sun shone high or I’d sit in the driver seat and take the
wheel. Sometimes, I’d wriggle out and lie on the hood of the dusty 1982 blue Topaz.
Our sitter — that black dog who’d play for hours — he just kept bringing us back the ball.
And we just laughed and ran through the rows.
I always waited for the time my parents would break. My mom’s face shining under the
bandana
and a sun hat. Fresh cherries in her hand,
foil burritos still warm in the dented green Thermos, our lunch. The trunk of the car
became our table,
on our own Bring-Your-Kids-to-Work Day.
Mi carcachita azul y el perro negro
RICARDO
Dormı́a en el asiento trasero hasta que el sol brillaba alto
o me sentaba en el asiento del conductor y tomaba el volante.
A veces me escabullı́a para tumbarme en el capó del polvoriento Topaz azul de 1982.
El niñero —ese perro negro que jugaba por horas— no dejaba de traernos la pelota.
Y nos reı́amos corriendo por las hileras.
Siempre esperaba el descansito de mis padres. La cara de mi mamá brillando bajo su
pañuelo
y el sombrero de sol. Cerezas frescas en la mano,
burritos en aluminio aún calentitos en el termo verde abollado, nuestro almuerzo. La
cajuela del carro se convertı́a en nuestra mesa, en nuestro propio Dı́a-de-llevar-a-los-hijosal-
trabajo.
The General on the Battlefield Leading the Troops
JOSÉ AND RICARDO
Where did these red and black warriors come from? How do they know to search out the
aphids
that feed off the succulent tissue of the Gala?
I stood — charged to lead my spotted counterparts. Sending them out to battle.
Hold the line, ladybugs! Protect the fruit.
The organic label needs us!
The orange bucket hummed as my mother handed it to me.
Pon atención, estás trabajando.
El general lidera sus tropas en el campo de batalla
JOSÉ Y RICARDO
¿De dónde han venido estos guerreros rojos y negros? ¿Cómo saben cazar los pulgones que
se alimentan de la pulpa suculenta de la Gala?
Yo estaba listo para dirigir a mis homólogos de lunares. Enviarlos a la batalla.
¡Mantengan la lı́nea, catarinas! Protejan la fruta.
¡El sello orgánico nos necesita!
La cubeta zumbaba cuando mi madre me la pasó. Pon atención, estás trabajando.
We Had This Camcorder: Mother and Son Duet
JOSÉ, LORENA AND RICARDO
The hardest thing from that move He always did love videos
I remember we had this camcorder We had this camcorder
I would take it everywhere
He would always take it everywhere
I don’t know what happened to it I know what happened to it
There are no pictures from back then
There wasn’t enough money to get us here back then
It was one of the most valuable things we had It was one of the most valuable things we had
It must of got lost We had to sell it
I still think about it
I still think about him looking for it
I wish we still had it
I wish we didn’t need to sell it
That was the hardest part That was so hard to part with
42
II | La llegada
Teníamos esa videocámara: un dúo de madre e hijo
JOSÉ, LORENA Y RICARDO
La parte más difı́cil de esa mudanza E]l siempre amó los videos
Recuerdo que tenı́amos esta videocámara Tuvimos esa videocámara
La llevaba conmigo a todas partes Siempre la llevó a todas partes
No sé qué pasó con ella Yo sé qué pasó con ella
No nos quedan imágenes de entonces
No tenı́amos suficiente dinero entonces para mudarnos aquı́
Era una de las cosas más valiosas que tenı́amos Era una de las cosas más valiosas que
tuvimos
Debe haberse perdido Tuvimos que venderla
Sigo pensando en ella
Sigo pensando en cuánto la buscó
Ojalá que todavı́a la tuviéramos
Ojalá que no tuviéramos que venderla
Esa fue la parte más difı́cil
Fue tan difı́cil desprendernos de ella.
Ain’t Shit to Do When Your Parents are Always Working
RICARDO
The question sat suspended in the air:
So, with two fingers, I plucked it from the sky, Examining its details in the light from the
street lamp. Its colors I wore: Blood Red, asking to be spilled.
I took that question and pinned it on my chest,
Feeling its weight and power.
They were my friends, my people—
We would walk the half mile to school together:
I was a part of the group.
But to be a member! They were asking me.
I wanted to feel the fists on my face. To know the boot upon my ribs.
To then have them as brothers.
But, I took the question off: it didn’t fit. And lost some friends that day.
Still, other gangs were waiting.
No hay nada que hacer cuando tus padres no paran de trabajar
RICARDO
La pregunta quedó suspendida
y con dos dedos la arranqué del aire,
examinando sus detalles a la luz del farol.
Me vestı́ con sus colores: Blood Red que pide ser derramada. Agarré esa pregunta y la
prendı́ en mi pecho,
Sintiendo su peso y su poder.
Eran mis amigos, mi gente…
Juntos caminábamos la media milla a la escuela:
Ya formaba parte del grupo.
Pero, ¡ser miembro! Me lo estaban pidiendo.
Deseaba sentir los golpes en mi cara.
Conocer la sensación de la bota en mis costillas. Para que luego pudiera llamarlos mis
hermanos.
Al final me quité la pregunta: no me quedaba bien. Y perdı́ algunos amigos aquel dı́a.
Pero otras pandillas me esperaban.
