Sons of Salt

The powerful debut from Salvatierra turns to the natural world to reimagine the wreckage of familial pain. The ocean, sky, forest, and volcanoes become sites for Salvatierra to excavate a portrait of Mexican American families ravaged by patriarchal religious practices and the systemic erosion of communal life. The loss or disappearance of sons, brothers, and fathers in these communities is a central theme. These figures frequently lose their eyes, a potent metaphor for men who have lost their way or been forcibly displaced, as in a poem in which a mother’s son “crashed until his wings were broken, feathers mangled... until he found his back home where his sight awaited him.” Another entry puts the issues of unjust immigration policies and racist ideologies more bluntly: “A Woman and Mexican Man (illegal)/ have a baby boy (citizen). He goes to school,/ is outcast (illegal)—/ this is American-manufactured at its finest,/ at dispensing misery.” The crisis animating Salvatierra’s poetry builds over the course of the collection in poems layered with symbolism, such as a room placed precariously between two volcanoes. This sense of predicament is balanced by striking, spare language: “I had no choice but to father my sons.” Simultaneously intimate and cosmic in scope, this fires on all cylinders. (Sept.)