Javier Zamora’s poem, “How I Learned to Walk,” delves into the complexities of childhood memories and the search for paternal connection. Opening with the stark command “cállate” (shut up), the poem immediately establishes a tone of suppressed emotion and underlying tension. Initial interpretations might suggest a canine perspective due to the line “I piss in the corner.” However, the subsequent imagery of “fling[ing] rocks / at bats hanging midway up almond trees” points towards a young boy, engaging in impulsive, childhood behaviors. Knowing Zamora’s background, we understand this speaker is likely a younger version of the poet himself.
The poem appears to undergo a tonal shift, transitioning from childhood reminiscences to an adult grappling with unanswered questions about his father. The lines “When I clutch my pillows, I think of him. If he sleeps / facedown like I do” reveal a yearning for connection and understanding. The act of clutching pillows suggests anxiety and unease, highlighting the speaker’s distress over the unknown aspects of his father’s life. This desire to know his father becomes intertwined with a desire for self-discovery, as the speaker seeks to differentiate inherited traits from those uniquely his own. The poem poignantly explores the frustration of lacking a complete paternal picture, leaving the speaker with lingering questions about both his father and himself. The repetition of “cállate” later in the poem raises questions about its intended meaning: Is it an internal command to silence intrusive thoughts, or a forceful breaking of the fourth wall, directly addressing the reader and extending the poem’s reach beyond the page? Zamora masterfully uses evocative imagery and subtle shifts in tone to explore themes of childhood, memory, and the enduring search for paternal connection in “How I Learned to Walk.”
