Our California
Poems from San Bernardino County
A Place People Pass By
By Mary Jean Newcomer
The city where I live
is sliced in half by
eight lanes of the 10.
Day and night truck traffic.
People leaving LA; people on their way.
On one side, Mount San Gorgonio,
where I learn how to share boysenberries with bees,
my hand reaching into a plump purple cluster
inches away from my compadre species,
too occupied with the berries’ juices to notice me.
On the way home, old houses, a library,
an old TB retreat turned into lavender farm.
I go through the underpass of the 10 to the other side, to
Albertsons, Wal-Mart, Rite-Aid, Buffalo Wings, La Casita, Sushi, Boot Barn, Kohls.
My house sits a little further away, near the hills busily regrowing
after the summertime fire. From here, the traffic sounds like a soft steady roar,
surf like. The distant trains rumble a friendly steadiness.
I can see San Jacinto; I learn what it means to feel a mountain’s love.
Solemn and quiet. Enduring.
On my way to somewhere, I see a boy, frozen by Fentanyl, sitting on a rock next to the
Mobil station.
A boy turning into a statue from the inside out.
A homeless man parks his cart, shakes the boy's shoulders, reaches
into his eyes.
I fill my tank and wish.
Had the boy gone into the trails of San Jacinto, sat by the lake and talked with the trees,
would he have found something else?
We live in a place of city, desert, lush, barren,
a kaleidoscope of language, a smorgasbord of tastes, eight different kinds of noodles,
five ways to marinate goat, greens that people back east cannot identify, trees of
almond, citrus,
jujube, pomegranate.
Of Medjool dates.
Of wave after wave of reshaping sea.
We struggle less than we did before we came here.
Would it help if “I don’t know what to do?” became ‘what if....?”
La Bonita Semanas
By Elena Gookin (College)
La Bonita Semanas
Every Saturday going to the ramate
Walking the busy aisle
Hearing “CACAHUATE TENEMOS CACAHUATES”
Looking at the birds
The pepios, I called them,
The colors of the rainbow engulfing us
The pony rides
Imaging I’m a Ranchera.
La Bonita Semanas
Every Sunday vamos a mas
Listening to the Spanish songs
Mi abuelos engulfed en dios
While I played with mi muñecas on the pews
After mas
The smell of food
Elotie
Eating it in the car while mi abuela discusses the chisme of the day.
The beautiful weekends
I saw no more
I don’t hear the bells for shaved ice
I don’t hear the party songs going on till 5
I don’t hear the air of a bouncy house being blown up from my neighbors
The color caramel surrounding me turned into white snow with green-covered pockets.
The beautiful weekends
Ending
The culture
Gone
A part of me
My story
My life
Dead
Left behind my home town,
Ontario.
Am I worthy
By Ipyani Lockert
I do love you
I do desire you
I do long for you
I truly do
Yet I cannot fight you for your love
I have to fight with each given day
Not only for my humanity and life
For my very existence
Fighting to be a man
Fighting for my manhood to be recognized and respected
Fighting for space
Just to dwell within
Just to breathe within
Just to be
Fighting for my voice
Not even to be heard
Just to simply express myself as myself
Just to be me
Fighting systems constructed for my destruction
The authoring of my demise
Fighting rules of law
Formed for my falling
Fighting for food
That nourishes me
No priming me for cancer
Fighting for air
Pure and crisp, fresh
Yet warehouses built around me as they warehouse me
Fighting to move
Freely and unrestricted
Yet I am chained and bounded
I fight these shackles
I fight these imposed limitations
I fight these shortsighted views upon my very life, upon my potential, upon my very destiny
I fight, I battle, I crusade
Not for bloodlust
For my bloodline
Not for conquest
For my surrender
Not for spoils
For my necessities
I fight
Such as my father
Such as his father
Such as the father of all fathers
I will continue to fight
For this is what has been destined
This is where I been placed
This is why
And this is the win
Victory!
Victorious such as my predecessors
Victorious such as my ancestry
Victorious such as my lineage and legacy
Victorious such is my nature, such is my calling, such is my destiny, until glory calls
Yet again, I cannot fight you for your love
I am heavy burdened
I am restless and weary
I am gravely wounded
I have fought to make it here
I was guided here
An inaudible voice
Maybe of my soul or of souls beyond the veil
Leading me, beckoning me, to crawl or stumble towards the fold
This dimension, this realm, between life and death
Whispering through me to call upon thee angels
It says there is healing within their touch
That there is a mending within their love
With the ability to renew and create a new
Delusional I may be
I have lost some much blood
I see my time has come upon nearing horizons
I wish I could be as free as these tears welling forth from my eyes
Yet I am only a man
My time set within limits
A sun rises and a sun sets
I am here in limbo
Resting upon my back
Witnessing the opening skies
I fear, mustering the last of my consciousness and waning strength
Pouring forth for the spirited soul of a dying temple, I scream to thee angels...
"Am I not worthy of your grace, have I not honored your will, each test, task, and errand assigned, have I not vanquished, have I not succeeded, have I not overcome? I cannot fight you for your love. I am only a man! I cannot ascend to the heavens! A wise and cunning design indeed, this separation between you and I. Much destruction lies within the wake of man once treasures are gained and within hand, surely that is of your knowing. As we both know the nature of man, if we were able to rise into the heavens, ravaging chaos would surely ensue. That is not the love that I'm seeking, that would be forcefully taking, no healing can be found within that. I cannot fight you for your love, for your mending touch, for your loving embrace which heals the brokenness of man. You must descend from the heavens and fall upon the earth. I cannot fight for your love... you must bless me. This is my last yearning prayer of a dying temple, a faithful stewart clothed in man."