The sun gently entered my brother’s room, reminding me of my promise to run in the morning…Fuck, they are staring at me, taunting me, their too pristine to be running shoes. I get up, slip them on and head to the park. As soon as I make it up the last step, the beautiful soccer field opens up, this is my sun rise. I stare for a few and then walk home. I need to buy some shades I tell myself. Fresh squeezed oj, eggs, and sis’s potatoes.
soccer on the pavement with los primos
, with mom, pops, and siblings in the park
with brother, hector, his brothers on the turf
tio raymundos backyard, rancheras, relajo, and beers (maliciala)
house party in long beach, cumbias, tecate, and holding little (yet heavy) maximo.
moc job talk for friend’s upcoming interview at UofA, tacos koreanos, al pastor, horchata
pool hall from my high school days with hector, as in 1999, the doors, pink floyd, Santana, and los tigres blaring from the juxe box.
Palabra, chicano literary art journal
· Burbank, seat 28b,
· The 1 train-cross the Columbia campus, wind slapping my face,
· hugs con caridad (home).
this is dope, nothing like home. you're a poet
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