Think of Santos

Read at El Centro de la Raza, on Dia de los Muertos, November 2nd 2015, to commemorate the death of 12 year old Santos Rodriguez.

Think of Santos

— In memory of Santos Rodriguez

Since not anger, not prayers, nor protests

The clock can stop and prevent the bullet

Fired by a half man and his coward hand

And no brotherly love nor mother’s tears

Life into his lifeless body may inject

We who live yet must Santo’s life recall

His narrow shoulders, the milk of his teeth

Remember his tomorrows in each day

In children smiling on their way to school

Cherish and protect the things he didn’t get

When you say his name he lives inside you

Inside me live his truth, his hopes, his dread

So as the moon calls tides from her distant perch

So may one day soon Santos and Justice merge.


To learn more about Santos Rodriguez go to:

Seattle’s Poem

Seattle is a house


on the comings and goings

of water and wind

ripple of fish

feather of crow

early morning ferry yawn

Seattle I say

and invoke a man and a place

the two inseparable

not proportional

not parallel

but as language

is to poem

and salt to sea

I watch bridges, bicyclists, boats

summer blankets tendered

on public lawns

I watch fiery sunsets

tango and sway over jagged peaks

and autumn trees bursting gold

up and down hilly streets

Nevertheless before

I postcard and gloss

and more sunsets

and more trees

find their way into my lines

I must confess

the house’s foundation

is in places brittle

and many rooms dark

for windows lack

Plenty have I been

on the receiving end

of rehearsed indifference

heard enough shallow

arguments on who belongs here

to wake up scooping

ocean water with a spoon

we are all here

that need to be

The city is concrete and steel

plus the sum of its people

everyday we destroy

our house

then race to remake it

those narrow windows

block future’s view

mute voices

that need to be heard

muffle the sound

of the fallen tree limb

heavy with ripe plums

Everyday we tread

over Chief Sealth’s legacy

his prophetic words,

“At night when the streets

are silent (…) and you think

them deserted,

they will throng

with the returning hosts

that once filled them

and still love this land”

We are not alone

save for his people

we are all immigrants here

waiter, teacher,

artist, worker nurse

we belong

all of us belong

Seattle is a house

we all need to afford.