Reviewed on 1/20/2025
★★★☆☆
“Wanderlust” explores the complexities of growing up and leaving behind our dear love. Vega opens with gorgeous imageries of nature: “cow & horse,” “jet-black crows,” “the morning’s blue wrist of light.” Like children, the speaker’s affection for the freedom of exploration manifests a sense of curiosity. The poem then directly speaks to “the eldest daughter,” how she experienced the same excitement leaving home for new opportunities. Vega reveals a communal “wanderlust” and the inevitability of maturing.
However, the guilt of losing loved ones complicates her journey of adulthood. The speaker asks, “What did it take/ for your Amá to let go?” He illuminates the unseen part of every coming-of-age story: the daughter’s soaring comes at the cost of the mother’s pain. Behind Sal Paradise’s pursuit of lust are sorrow and longing back at home. The road of travelling far is also analogized to a “blue … umbilical cords … being pulled out from deep within her body.” The mother’s love and care stretch the distance of the daughter’s new discoveries. The ending line, “those dimples on your face … less like car tires, skidding,” suggests the intertwining coexistence of joy and regret. It is the impossibility of asking permission to grow.
At the same time, the transition from I to her feels unnatural. The less personal address and imagery dedicated to the daughter diminish intimacy and entrench a sense of fragmentation.
Full Poem: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/poems/1639266/wanderlust
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