Little Girl By Kayla Hall

I remember nights of playing dress up.
Bed sheets become extravagant ball gowns,
a royal princess couldn't go alone
to the ball with out her trusty stallion.
Two dogs for two girls, a Cinderella
story, with fairy tale magic to turn
large dogs and simple girls into horses
and worldly princesses till midnight strikes.

I remember the afternoon recess
where me and my friend became wild horses.
We galloped and we ran like wild mustangs.
When we were not horses we pretended
to paint the school yard with water and wood
pieces were our brushes we were artists.
The secret handshakes that lasted one day
then they became forgotten, new ones made.

I remember the early Saturdays
watching cartoons, the good ones, the classics.
Scooby Doo and Gargoyles I couldn't watch
enough of them, I wanted all of them
to air in a row, all day marathon.
Soon cartoons were replaced with more grown up
shows. Shows that I would stay up till I saw
the sunrise through the window telling me
that I should get some sleep and then repeat.

I remember the ice cream truck, panic
jolted through my body, could I get cash
from my parents in time to make it down
the street. Meeting up with my friends, running,
frantically waving, all for ice cream.

                                                                      

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.