you only live once

By Jake Rose

driving on the highway south

and bridesmaids gather gusts

of their laughter under a sign

that reads YOLO county

in green and white while rust

colored horses shift ankles in

snake patterned grass the smell

of tin rising off cuts in a cattle farmer’s

fingers each night my town is swamped

in steam from overtime at the tomato

canning factory a plump red sun

setting over olive trees lining

the cemetery where a family gathers

in pink camping chairs laughing

tipping ash from a joint and telling

their jokes to the dead still held as

close as breath there are dogs

barking in the alley outside a tattoo

shop and meadowlarks scratch

yellow notes into junkyard oil drums

the fruitsellers downwind of

the wastewater plant pinch their noses

at lunch a summer heat here

can make the eyes on a peacock’s plumage

half lidded as it wanders across

the barbed wire of burnt yards and

the line for prescriptions at CVS curls

like a fist but people get along mostly

nothing is wistful or permanent nothing

is collected or quenched the watery light exits

in all directions and the dust can turn

to ash when you least suspect

my advice is to drink a cup of shade &

learn how to feed yourself

with only the thought of rain

this valley sits under the snow geese

for ten minutes then again they fly away

I Dreamed of California

By Jen Soong

I dreamed of California before we
moved here, before we tasted
oh-so-sweet strawberries, before
we heard farmers say an-mund not
all-mond trees, before friends
delivered marmalade and plump
peaches from their gardens, before
we choked on wildfire smoke, before
Paradise burned, before we cowered
behind masks afraid of the air we
shared, before we learned how to
carry our grief, how to break loaves,
palms close enough to touch again.

What an abundance of riches we have
here in California. My children bike to school
on the greenbelt, our neighbors share seeds
and books, musicians bang away on outdoor
pianos, lovers kiss under a shovel arch, in a
redwood grove, on a bench that spells
compassion. It is impossible not to fall in love
with the blue ocean of sky that spells possibility.
It is impossible not to live a thousand dreams
imagining a thousand more.

Instructions for the after-you-move-to-
California self: Plant sunflowers. Remember
to face the sun. Despite everything, don’t
forget, darling: The dream, I mean, your
beating heart, is still alive.