Every Father Says I Love You

By Oscar Mancinas

Issue 33 • Spring 2016 • Poetry

Not the one from the sierra in Northern Mexico.
Not the one who said kuira before hola before hello.
Not him, though.

What’s he to do, working in a mine,
a teen deep in the earth where
I love you cannot breathe?

Or when Indio blooms into grapes
and triple-digit heat, and he’s up before dawn
and done after I love you has gone to sleep?

I love you isn’t at his wedding, so what’s he
to know about love or you? Or when
I crawl all over the floor, grasping

at the world with confidence like the morning
sun? Spitting and crying, I see
dad and tug on his dirty pant leg and beg

to be lifted. He picks love up, and I
love you climbs from his arms over his heart
to his shoulders. I love you sits, rests my

cheek against dad’s cheek and listens.

Oscar Mancinas

Oscar Mancinas is just a young mestizo from around the way. Born and raised in Mesa, Arizona, he currently writes and teaches at Emerson College in Boston.

Paul Bilger

Paul Bilger is an experimental photographer. His work has been featured in the literary journals Brevity, SmokeLong Quarterly, quarrtsiluni, Hot Metal Bridge, and as cover art for the musical collectives Dead Voices on Air, Autistici and Brian. More album art can be viewed at Discogs. In 2012, he was a featured artist for Kompresja, a Polish journal of Art & Science. He teaches Philosophy for Penn State University and Chatham University. He lives in Pittsburgh.