Poetry
1 min
Where My Parents Lived
Vivian Owens
I like to get off of my train in Oakland where my
Family could go to greet me
Even though my friend says it's too much for him
I stay to meet my Auntie in the city that never seems
To sleep but forsakes each pot hole and lovely street
Family could go to greet me
Even though my friend says it's too much for him
I stay to meet my Auntie in the city that never seems
To sleep but forsakes each pot hole and lovely street
My train zooms too fast for his liking
Straight to the place my father grew into a man
Where my mother grew into an American
And where I couldn't afford to stay
Save for the weekends when I sleep in a restless city
Where my Aunties decided to help me grow my restless
Words restless tone and restless strength that isn't strong enough for
Sports, but strong enough to leap at the plum tree in
Grandma's backyard, tall and sharp branches that remind me
Of the forest that lines the sky near the museum
And her house, one that perpetually reminds me of a
Time when I could lay on the carpet and help my
Baby cousin pick crackers out from between the fibers
Cielo Rojo playing on her T.V. and my paper dolls
Made to replicate the images I saw on her screen
There's a back room where I've laughed and cried
Been too shy to come out of feeling too restless
But maybe the places that boil my thrashing and squirming
Are truly the best places to cook, baking my spirit to
Perfection, and frosting the words of a woman onto my back
Because in Oakland, where Grandma teaches me how to cook
Where Aunties teach me how to walk
Are the places that other people tell me they are scared of
But I get why they would be scared of the places that have the strength
To change a women born without
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