Mrs. Santa Ana and Mr. San Gabriel
Pour the bubbling mosh of cultures inside,
Where every ingredient blends together
And sets their differences aside—
No fighting between the flavors,
Only churning into an aromatic stew.
No matter what spice finds its way into that pot,
It’ll assimilate quickly to the simmering scene
Finding its place among the hundreds of worlds;
But among the flavors comes that quiet sizzle,
The fleeing steamship, sailing over the rim;
Voyaging freely into the Great Unknown.
The children run into the kitchen, delighted to their senses;
Asking, “What’s Cooking Today? Is it something new?”
Just sit for a moment—you’ll know once you taste it,
And let the Flavors coax you towards tomorrow.
I Hear a Ringing in my Ears
I hear a ringing in my ears,
The sounds of bygone days imprisoned
In the confines of their long-lost scene,
Or is it the eerie scratches from long ago
Lingering a hollow echo against the walls?
I can hear the metallic old 80’s tune
Of rock and roll, like rocks rolling
Across a tin can spittoon,
Just playing on repeat for eons
As my ears grow tired from that same-old,
Same-old, bleak and chugging tune.
I wish I could rest, but it won’t leave me alone;
I roll around, my ears following a wavelike trance,
Until that trembling ringing is synchronous
With my struggling silhouette.
I can’t close my eyes when that ringing—
That incessant ringing like an alarm unkempt—
But what if I wasn’t meant to sleep?
To listen to that bickering hum,
Warning me of the dangers that still lurk
In the echoing halls of our own drums.