Mario and Wendy are moving to California. See, Mario is a poet. He received a masters degree from Purdue and then, along with 2,000 other poets, applied for a Wallace Stegner Fellowship at Stanford University. Stanford gives out five each year and this year Mario was selected. It’s a two year fellowship, an amazing honor, and he leaves next week, taking his little family with him.
Today they came to the studio to view their pictures. As we sat together looking at all the images, I thought about how Mario’s life is going to change. Great things are coming his way. Their life isn’t going to be the same after this, and I thought about how meaningful it’s going to be for them to have these pictures later on, these little memories that mark this specific time in their life. This is the beginning.
Thanks for coming, Mario and Wendy, and best of luck at Stanford.
And now, enjoy this beautiful poem from Mario Chard.
……
MISTAKE
What is beautiful about the Iranian boy
who dips his fingers in the river,
who is blind, who reads the stones there,
is that he translates what he finds
for no one. I may be wrong.
It was,
after all, a film I hardly remember.
A boy reading Braille in the riverbed.
Once in a school meeting common
to the inner city, I was called to interpret
for a Mexican father.
The Board, raised
on a platform, sat before us sipping
water. They had closed his son’s school.
I remember I barely knew the man’s
Spanish. That he, at last, kept none of his
anger back. But also that
when he stopped
speaking—my turn to translate
his words—I was confused at first, simply
started back in Spanish with what he asked.
The father laughed. The Board followed.
The room of parents broke
into laughter.
I keep that sound like I keep the words
I offer no one, stones I find weeding
the garden, the word my young
son speaks who finds me there, points
to sweat on my forehead, says water.