Ana Castillo's proto-feminist poetry collection from 1988 resonates even more strongly today. There's a rawness to her imagery, a lustiness, a bravado that we seem to need so badly. A million errant Mexican fathers are called out, longed for, disparaged, made peace with, and call out all over again in these short verses, while the strength of the lonely Chicana far from home, living in bitter cold Chicago weather is canonized with her own tears and encrusted blood from countless beatings and daily disgraces. There's deep hurt being reckoned with here, family betrayals and personal losses, but in Ana's poems, that pain is raised above the temporal and given an awesome status, one which grants her (and us) citizenship to a fierce country unlike the one we're being culled from now.