Carboncillo
A poem by Juan Luzuriaga

Carboncillo

“Oye, Carboncillo!”
Just a nickname as a kid. My nickname—a nickname just for me.
The first time I heard it,
I missed the sting it was intended to create by my “friend” in class.
Eventually, I made a switch and registered that “friend”
as the assailant he intended to be, but not before other kids laughed,
repeating my nickname, leaving me muddled with the question:
Am I carboncillo? 

Carboncillo is made of carbón and carbón is made to make art
but the way it was said to me just meant that I am dark.

The pride of white lions called me, “Carboncillo”
with a tone that echoed a low-quality stain upon the clean snow,
insulting the beauty of its immaculate glow.

In class, looking down at my arms in silence,
I tried to hide and reduce my skin under my sleeves,
hoping that I could be less of a carboncillo.

No sun or beach for me, so my skin doesn’t darken.
More clothes for me to hide,
just hoping that I could decrease the tones of my insulting skin in time.

Oh, how I yearned to be among the pride of white lions.
Well, not for them, but for the blue-eyed white lioness, Adriana.
Her caramel voice turned bitter when she too joined in saying,
“Oye, Carboncillo!”
That’s when I felt the sting.
How could a lowly alley cat called Carboncillo be part of her pride? 

It took years of hiding in the shadows,
hoping to wash my color away and be more like them.
Years, to be able to hear the word carboncillo
and not feel the roots of my nervous system affected.

It wasn’t until I was in the Amazon jungle
and came across the darkest puma ever—I froze
resolved to die at the mercy of such a majestic and ferocious creature.
The puma looked me in the eye,
stare of a thousand knives and said,
Wake up, carboncillo. I live within you,
so why are you playing at being an alley cat
when you come from my soul?
My eyes burnt a tear, and as the puma walked away,
I embraced the nickname Carboncillo.

About the Author:

Juan Luzuriaga is a writer based in Merced, California. He was born in Guayaquil, Ecuador, and immigrated to the US in 2000. His interest lies in exploring a spiritual connection with his ancestors through prose and poetry. He teaches poetry in prisons and at California Poets in the Schools. He has been published in The Merced County Times (2022), The Vernal Pool (2021-22), Matchbox Magazine (2023), and Cholla Needles (2023).

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