a brief reaction to Jasmine Ledesma's Acid in Georgia

I've found that Jasmine Ledesma’s chapbook Acid in Georgia is best enjoyed after you've been frozen for a while.

Reading this chapbook felt like summertime; felt like being doused in June heat after uncomfortably chilling in cranky A/C all day; felt like sitting on a blazing bench that has a bite that marks your thighs a little too well in your sun dress; felt like a racket of sensations rushing and hurrying through your bloodstream. 

I felt restless and cagey all day with the unread pages pressed together, untouched, in my bag. I wanted to take a glance during my lunch break, maybe savor a story or two after eating my food, but I didn't want to risk it. After all, there was a chance that I'd be (rudely) interrupted.

I tackled the first short story directly at 4:15pm. I battered down, armed with a bag of snacks and tea, in another box of cold concrete and A/C. I found a center seat in the upstairs food court where I could people-watch from above and feed my vampiric day dreams from my well-placed ledge.

I read the first 14 pages from this makeshift balcony, like a true patron of the arts.

 

I had to take a break after reading "Hundred Pound Cowboy". (Siri play Velvet Crowbar by Lana Del Rey)

After my emotional break(down), I decided to flee my post and target the middle chunk of the book outside on a nearby bench. I let my tea get warm in the afternoon sun but I wanted to escape downtown before sunset so I jumped on a bus with the last story untouched.

I read the last short story in my living room with a solo fan fluttering in the corner. In conclusion, I hate conclusions but "Goblin" was something else--I didn't want it to end.

Ledesma's prose is scalding, impactful. Her use of language is unrelenting. Her images are insistent; a thread of a visual will pierce you with its clarity and then, the veracity from the text is not just a passing visitor anymore, suddenly you're embroidered with truth.