#writerscorps

Ode to My Daddy

Lena Hill

Daddy, you are the sweetest person on earth.

You are a tall dark, handsome young man.

You are strong and powerful,

the person I want to be like when I grow up.

I never told you, but you are

the most important person in my life.

You have taken care of me since I was born.

You might want to give up on me sometimes.

but you don’t. You tell me to keep my head up

and keep going. No matter what I do

you are there. You make me feel

like I’m above the stars.

When something is wrong with me

you always know. It’s like you

can see right through my feelings.

When I’m unhappy you always

make me smile.

When I’m in the car with you,

we have conversations about our days.

It feels so good to see you smile.

It’s like watching the sunset on the beach.

I love to see you happy.

When you’re happy it’s like seeing a five-year-old

on Christmas day.

Ode to my daddy,

the man that brought me

into this world. I love you daddy!!!

And I always will.

Just a Goodbye

Francisco Medina

Give me one hour to go to La Ferra with all my family to enjoy the lost things that happened during the past two years after I immigrated to the U.S.A.

Give me one more second to go outside to play soccer with my friends and do whatever we want. Just one more second to say goodbye.

Give me one day to come back to my country and be with my people, and let me touch one more time just one more time to touch again my flag.

Give me one moment to enjoy again to enjoy my grandmother’s frijoles refritos and mole. Let me touch her black hair and feel her hands touching my eyes, and listen to her voice saying, ?Cómo estás mi hijo? How are you, son?

Give me a last time to enjoy the lost things that have passed, the good times with my family, one more chance to say to them, Goodbye!

Someday I’ll be telling them, I’m back! I have come back! not for a day or a year but until I die.

2 Words

Kathy Almendares

Smoking Dank Drankin’ dank Poppin’ E Sellin’ trees Broken blocks Dirty cops Young male In jail Pops gone Mom high Who’s home? When the Baby cries You’re out All night Gettin’ high Runnin’ them Lonely streets No money No job No where To go Now what Who gives A  **** About you But now You’re alone Because of Street life And your Broken home

My Other Family

Rosa Nuńez

I, too sing America When I step outside I see people coming from work I smell baked pizza I taste the hot chips that I buy at the store I feel happy about all of these things in the world Some things I am happy about are that I can go home eat whatever I want and that I am going to see my family I think about my other family in Mexico And say to myself                                 do they see the same things I see                                 do they feel like me I too am America

Doubt

Mickey Case

Doubt lives inside me because I doubt that I’m going to college.

Doubt stays locked up in my head.

If doubt could have anything he would have a car so I could leave with him.

I am doubt’s father.

Doubt has a lot of friends but they are all going to college without him.

Brown Skin

Justin Lee

it’s hard to write with so many distractions around me. it’s like I’m trying to swim with somebody tryin’ to drown me. I can’t hear, I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t think. my throat hurts ‘cause I’ve been throwin’ up my guts in the kitchen sink. my mom says it’s gonna be OK but I just can’t hear her. you see, my Dad died when I was twelve, and he was all I had in life. that’s why when things got really hard, I was ready to pick up a knife. it’s hard to be Black in a world that’s all white, where you’re always wrong, you see, all my life I’ve tried to be cool. but how can I be cool with my mom sayin’ “I don’t like you.” it’s hard to live. it’s hard to write. but people, don’t give up. continue to fight.

Saturdays

Annie Yu

The #30 bus on Stockton street

Stops suddenly

launches my sister and I forward

towards the crowded doors

we jump off the bus

dodging the elderly Chinese ladies

who walk slowly across the street

their backs hunched

hands burdened

with red plastic bags of fresh fish and ripe fruit

for an afternoon snack

I like to peel oranges

ripe flesh is easily torn away

the sticky sweet juice fills my mouth

clings to my fingers

my mother buys pineapple buns for lunch

they are plump and topped with a flaky golden crust

with only a slight resemblance to a pineapple’s skin

its crumb fall into my lap as I eat

my sister and I run down the streets on Saturdays

on the way to dance class

mirrors echo us as we warm up at the barre

I suck in my tummy and stretch my legs

The chatter of girl giggles collapses

as we sink into the first position

I flail my arms like the fluttering of red fans

the way we leap up and hit the dusty floor

cracks like the snap of children’s firecrackers

striking the narrow sidewalks

real firecrackers burst through the sky

sparks flower into the night

what remains

wind pulls remnants of red paper

into the bakery’s doors