I Remember by Amy Cotter

I remember the spontaneity

that fueled the beginning of every day.

No two were ever the same here with us.

Thinking on our toes was never too hard,

during our adventures in the sun rays.

It was the enthusiasm, always,

that convinced me to take part.

How involved in every game you would be;

imagination fueling the young soul.

I remember the hot and stickiness,

of every day during the month of June.

Our hair matted to our glowing faces,

energy levels as high as a sloth’s.

Trying to stay cool with our popsicles,

slouched in the lukewarm, backyard kiddie pool.

I remember the days of barefoot walks;

purposely zig-zagging in direction,

so our toes could squish in the ice cold mud

then regain feeling on the scorching road.

Back when curfew depended on darkness;

the ability to see your fingers,

when stretched out as night completed our day.

I remember the few exceptions too,

when we were allowed to stay out at night.

Crouching in the tall grass waiting for them,

the tiny balls of light that danced and twirled;

creating a mesmerizing light show.

Fireflies synchronized in their night flight.  

A performance for the summer nights

that we anticipated each year.

Poem of the Day: I Remember Lotería

BY JACOB SAENZ

I remember nights of playing

Lotería w/Mom & Big Manny

as a way to learn the Spanish they spoke

to each other but not to their kids

who caught on to certain words

like cállate, cerveza, chicharrón;

little nuggets I ate up

like the pinto beans we used

instead of the blue chips

Mom kept in her Bingo bag

she carried every Friday night

when her & Tia Shirley

went to the Moose Lodge,

her hair & coat reeking

w/the smoke of all who lost.

    

I remember El Borracho,

the man always holding a bottle

& about to fall over yet never does

like Big Manny stumbling home

late at night after a payday,

breath & belly full of beer,

who one time took a piss

in our bedroom.

I remember La Garza,

not for the heron it is

but cousin Tony & his kids,

nights of sleepovers & pizza,

PlayStation on a 40-inch TV,

the night he & Lil Jesse sneaked

bumps of coke in the bathroom

& I rubbed numb my teenage teeth.

I remember El Musico,

not the chubby man clutching his guitarra

but my brother Dave loading crates

of records & a dual turntable case

like a coffin into the back of a van,

the same set I hit my back on at ten

when I fell out of the top bunk bed.

But I prefer to remember La Sirena

back when her breasts were free

of the seashells she now holds

to cover them in water so blue

cold, her scales so red,

her name clung to the tongue

like dulce de leche.