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Orange Lady by Erika Ayón ISBN-13: 978-1986073493 ISBN-10: 1986073491 120 Pages ~ 80 Poems Publisher: World Stage Press Price: $15.00 To Order from World Stage Press ABOUT THE BOOK: Orange Lady is a poetry collection that recounts the experience of an immigrant growing up in South Central Los Angeles, where her family sold oranges on the street in order to survive. In adulthood, Ms. Ayón explores different facets of grief from not belonging in certain spaces, longing for a country she left long ago, and the loss of her father. The title itself stems from a moment when she was young, and a classmate called her, "Orange Lady" in front of the whole school after seeing her selling oranges. Although that moment initially caused her immense shame, it later motivated her to become more than her circumstances. These poems depict a journey that begins with recollections of being a street vendor to fading memories of Mexico and South Central Los Angeles, to reflections about a daughter's relationship with her father. They delve into issues of poverty, cultural identity, and the many hardships faced by the immigrant community. ADVANCE PRAISE: ¡°I am astonished by the heartbreaking beauty of Orange Lady, Erika Ay¨®n¡¯s debut collection. Here is a poetry of survival and betrayal, love and longing on the gritty streets of Los Angeles. San Pedro and 23rd, Numero Uno Market, Freemont High School are a few of the settings in which her real-life drama unfolds with cinematic clarity, as in the final stanza of "Each Fall," where her father returns with stories from four months working the fields: 'How the strawberries bleed onto your cut,/blistered hands. How people are plucked/from trees by the immigrant police. How rows/of men lie down to rest at night with love letters,/photographs planted above their chests.' Erika Ay¨®n is a poet to be reckoned with.¡± — Donna Hilbert, Author of Gravity: New and Selected Poems Erika Ayón's debut collection of poetryOrange Lady is an immigrant testimony of survival and reislience, of what it means to be in South Central L.A., between San Padro and 23 Street. These poems record a plea for peace, for a father's and mother's rest, an autobiographical narrative, where each poem stitched to each other forms a litany of street vendors, cholos, and the reconstruction of a Mexican family. The orange, sometimes the object of consolation, sometimes struggle, becomes "the only thing that could compete with the sun," and begins the powerful journey of what it's like to fall in love with poems. The important voice in the Orange Lady asks for permission to write, to put thoughts into words, the need to recover everything once dear, now lost. —William Archila, Author of The Art of Exile, winner of the International Latino Book Award, and The Gravedigger's Archaeology, Letras Latinas/Red Hen Poetry Prize. Poignant stories told with a clear, beautiful voice. Erika offers such an important perspective. Especially at this time. —RuthForman, Author of Prayers Like Shoes. ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Erika Ayón emigrated from Mexico when she was five years old and grew up in South Central Los Angeles. She graduated from UCLA with a B.A. in English. She was selected as a 2009 PEN Emerging Voices Fellow. She was also selected as a poet for the Newer Poet XV reading, part of the Aloud Series of the Los Angeles Central Library She has taught poetry to middle and high school students across Los Angeles. Her work has appeared in The Acentos Review, Chiricú Journal, Orangelandia Anthology, Wide Awake Anthology, Coiled Serpent Anthology, and elsewhere. FROM THE BOOK: When I Come Back to You —for Mexico by Erika Ayon I'll stand there, wait for you to embrace me. I'll kneel down, so as to know how it feels to pray under your sky. I'll drive down your winding roads, your cobblestone paved streets, follow the path of your veins spread like highways. I'll stop in Nayarit, where I first inhaled your air, pick wild flowers from open fields. Go to my first home, the green house with the red tiled roof, hug its concrete frame, place the gathered flowers within its creases. I'll go to Las Varas, the last place we met, to remember your carnival moon, your cotton candy kisses, and your sweet roasted corn scent trapped inside the pores of my skin. I'll take a trip to my old school, where paper doves still flutter above. At the plaza, I'll apologize on behalf of all those who left and never returned. I'll slip away to Platanitos Beach, drink water from your ocean. On the way back to Los Angeles, I'll take nothing from you. I'll cry softly for you. I'll hope that with this trip you'll know I still love you, you'll finally stop being a ghost.
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