Southtown Girl

S O U T H T O W N G I R L S a r a h

G o n z a l e s

May 2020

TABLE OF CONTENTS

01

02

The Barrio

Abue1o

03

06

Quarantined in the Barrio

Grandma's Lessons

07

08

Nights on Zarzamora Street

Ezra Koenig on the Radio

10

12

How You Should Process

Duplex An Imitation of Jericho Brown

May 2020

TABLE OF CONTENTS

13

15

Tuesdays at Mary House

the scrappy girl learns about The Holocaust

16

17

the scrappy girl discovers Led Zeppelin

Familia

18

19

Leaving the Barrio

Returning to the Barrio

The Barrio El barrio es mi casa.

A home that is built on generations of hard work.

With an aura of pan dulce y cafe con leche sunday morning at Abuela’s.

And local businesses where you walk in and the cashier knows you by name.

El barrio es mi casa.

A home that resembles unity Through old traditions, such as: An ofrenda in November to remember the dead. and La Posada at Christmas.

Having friends who become family, because blood isn’t the only thing that unites you.

Sharing an elote with your best amiga at your neighborhood frutería.

That first sip of that crisp coca-cola, on a hot summer day.

Dancing to cumbias until dawn with your family because music brings you together.

El barrio es mi casa.

The neighborhood is my home.

1

Abuelo Every first of November, I set aside your favorites. barbacoa on flour with a big red.

I do this hoping it’ll bring you back.

Or to feel like you’re nearby.

Anything that gives me this connection That we were blood-related.

Legend has it that Abuela Used to make homemade tortillas.

All she has ever fed me is store-made.

She must’ve stopped when you passed.

It probably reminds her too Much of you, and your Wit, your charm, your Stubbornness.

Abuela keeps your Brown suede cowboy hat In mint condition.

It hangs in the backroom, On the hat rack.

Exactly where you left it before you left.

Some days, I wonder how things would Be if you were still here.

Maybe a little more chaotic--but not the bad kind.

2

Quarantined in the Barrio Your childhood bedroom looks just You don’t want to be here.

As it did--when you left it in the winter.

Hoping the next time you’d see it, You’d have a diploma in hand.

Things shouldn’t have ended this And your next step planned out. way. You just know it.

What was only home on vacation Is now home until further notice.

Your mind is no longer occupied By the thought of enjoying your back.

Last few weeks as a student.

Unfortunate circumstances have Asked your mind to wander elsewhere.

Every night you wish for those days It’s all that runs through your mind: the time lost.

For the first couple of weeks, Attending class and getting out of Your body shuts down. bed is its own challenge & you The inability to move forward has take it on everyday.

You paralyzed; but blood still Circulates through your veins to Remind you that you’re alive--even if you don’t feel like it.

With times due, you work towards Acceptance. But you can’t.

Your mind longs for the late-nights With your friends; studying, laughing, And enjoying your last few weeks as Kids.

you worry you’ll never accept it.

3

And your heart hurts for the last week of class, Where you tell your professors and mentors “Thank you” for the impact they made on you.

And where you also say farewell to your Home. The home that saw you into your adult life.

Your mother has grown worried. Her Weathered heart beats for you. But She understands her boundaries and Gives you the space to grieve as you need.

The only thing she encourages, is that you: walk.

This one hurts the most.

So you walk.

In your first outing since life grew crazy, You walk the old trail you used to run as a teenager.

Your knees are a little worn down, so you don’t run As you used to. So you walk, and with time it turns to a light jog.

And in that jog, you’re able to immerse in the view.

The view of the sun winding down, as the clouds move along.

The sky transitions from a hazy blue to a radiant orange.

You hear the voices of other people--six feet apart of course, Trying to make sense of what is currently their life too.

The vivid grass sits in front of you; reminding you of the grass At what used to be your home.

4

Your heart is racing, Your throat is getting dry, Because the last time you jogged was In early February. And even though You're in physical stress, your mind is at ease.

Because for the first time in a while: You actually believe that things might be alright.

And maybe with time, they will be.

5

Grandma's Lessons abuela always told me: don’t move mountains for someone who will only enjoy them when they’re dressed with snow and the view from the top is outstanding abuela always told me to take in the moments where all you feel is the radiance of the room and the love of the people by your side abuela always told me to not avoid change, because it will always find a way into your life and it’s better to anticipate it that way you’re not disappointed

but that’s a lesson I learned too late

if only I had known that I was using rose-colored glasses

I wish I hadn’t taken those moments for granted. If only I knew then.

I hate change.

But it always happens.

I’m always disappointed.

and the last thing abuela left me with is to seek a life so rich and a love so real that when I am her age I will have a wisdom of my own That’s all I want.

6

Nights on Zarzamora Street I grew up protected from the streets.

Because my mother Feared if I wandered Off in them, then One day, she would receive a call from the southtown officer.

I grew up protected From the streets.

So I found my way to them.

The streets were dangerous To an outsider But to me and my friends, It was the place to Dance in, laugh in, and play in.

I eventually found my way to the streets.

Favoring my friends over my mother.

And we danced in the streets.

And we played in the streets.

And we laughed in the streets.

Until the streets were no longer a place to dance or a place to play or a place to laugh.

7

Ezra Koenig on the Radio in my early 20s I was oblivious to the world because I had my whole life to be the adult I needed to be. on the busy days green landscapes, dogs roaming and a skyline view of a city that would never seem real to a kid from the barrio was my favorite outing sympathy played in the car Ezra Koenig’s voice serenaded me on my little cruise to the park in the trunk I packed a cotton-felt blanket to avoid the grass ruining my favorite pair of jeans if I’d known then, that those days would be cut short I’d go back, take a moment & try to live in them for as long as I could

8

but those moments have ended & now II am no longer a kid from the barrio &I no longer have that skyline view.

9

How You Should Process I got a call on a monday morning. saying I had lost a friend To the voice inside their head I asked myself: Could I have stopped it?

I couldn’t.

But what if I could?

I couldn’t.

I thought about how I had meant to text you.

And ask how college was going, and if You were doing okay; I knew sometimes loneliness got the best of you.

But I never got to texting you.

And then it happened.

I turned to resources that acknowledged my grief But they failed to provide a remedy There was no remedy.

They failed to warn me about the nightmares That kept me awake at night And haunted me in the morning Because it was so real.

My chest grew heavy With grief regret Pain

10

My thoughts revolved around The words I wish I would’ve said The words I could’ve said The words I didn’t say. and let’s not forget: how much I wish I would’ve texted you the night before it all happened.

11

Duplex

In the Imitation of Jericho Brown Before I was a city girl, I was a kid from the barrio.

A kid from the barrio who rode their bike, My bike rode through the streets at night.

I ran through the streets with my amigas, avoiding trouble.

But my amigas and I were too young to be responsible.

We were so young and so reckless.

We jumped over fences like gazelles.

We’d jump over fences like gazelles, Hoping no one would fall along the way.

If anyone fell along the way, The night would end in trouble.

I always liked the trouble, Until I was a city girl.

12

Tuesdays at Mary House I walk into a house Colored in orange, red, yellow And the memories of many many residents who have seen the floors of this home.

I sweep the ground and dust the shelves of a place that has seen so much growth, but has witnessed so much Death.

With its Holy Cross Values, this home is a home to a population that is currently Unserved Mistreated Dehumanized.

Dehumanized.

Mistreated.

Unserved.

Yet, the unserved say grace or give thanks at each meal.

The mistreated have the brightest attitudes and warmest hearts.

The dehumanized, have found ways to be human again.

13

I was just a stranger to them before I walked into the house Colored in orange, red, yellow.

Yet I instantly felt at home the minute I was embraced at the door.

14

the scrappy girl learns about The Holocaust In the Imitation of sam sax they wore red bands around their left arm with an incomplete square on it. at first, the scrappy girl did not know what this meant; but with time she would learn that this was a symbol of hate. the people who wore this symbol were filled with hatred instilled by their leader’s propaganda. the scrappy girl could not understand their goal of genocide--she found it horrifying, heartbreaking, and overall disgusting. when the scrappy girl saw pictures of the victims, she couldn’t process their thin faces, nearly skin and bones, and how their bodies piled on one another as the villains dehumanized them. the scrappy girl couldn’t wrap her head around it: how could someone hate someone so much? how could this be the way?

15

the scrappy girl discovers Led Zeppelin In the Imitation of sam sax the scrappy girl was eleven years old when she first heard Led Zeppelin. she had stolen a burnt CD from her older brother’s room; a mixtape made up of hits recorded by some of the greats. the scrappy girl’s favorite track was number fourteen--Black Dog. the scrappy girl loves the guitar riffs, and she pretends to play it in the air as the song goes on. the scrappy girl follows the tempo of the song led by the drummer. the scrappy girl imagines herself on a stage--playing this song live in front of a crowd of over a thousand. she imagines surfing among this wave of people, the music radiating through her veins. for the first time ever, the scrappy girl feels alive.

16

Familia This past Thanksgiving my uncle Who never cries Cried as we said grace over the meal My mother and aunts had prepped.

His words remain vividly in my head, He said: No one has your back, like the People in this room. Family is Family.

I think he had more to say, but the tears Began to stream down his face, and his Voice began to crack.

I couldn’t tell you what those tears meant; Part of me wonders if he’s beginning to see The age in Grandma’s skin, that isn’t as lively As it were a few years ago.

I’m not a sentimentalist, but neither is my Uncle, which is probably why his words Remain vividly in my head.

It’s probably why I often think of my cousin, And the summers spent at Grandma’s.

The red and white house aged throughout The years, as did our Grandma; her energy Slowly decaying.

The rooms remain filled with Their own memory of us as children.

Running around.

Tripping over shoelaces.

And grandma looking over; her face livelier than ever.

Scraped knees.

17

Leaving the Barrio At 18 years old, I left the place That I had called home for so long.

I said farewell to friends who I had known Since pre-kinder and wished them the best, Knowing that in this chapter, we’d separate.

I drove down the roads of Military Drive The night before my departure.

Thinking of all the times I road down this Road with my friends because we were bored.

And how my mom nearly crashed At the stop light because she Thought yellow meant it was safe to turn.

And I laughed thinking how many times This road mended my broken heart.

With my belongings packed into dad’s 2016 Chevy truck, I ventured north of I-35 into a new land; a land that would Become my home and serve a purpose That the Barrio could no longer do for me.

18

Returning to the Barrio It had been months passed since I last Saw the roads of Zarzamora at night, Home to a collection of local businesses And caved pavement and construction signs.

I had been missing the hospitality of my favorite Breakfast spot and I missed your company.

So I invited you to meet me there.

You asked me if I were enjoying the college life And I told you Yes, it’s like home, but different.

You grinned, but I could see the faint disappointment In your eyes. you knew then, I’d never return home.

19