Tagged: sf

, waiting, to see the world

i remember waiting tables, , , more bread? allow me to get you more butter while i make mine…

stacks never got too high, neither did dad’s.
“I’ll take you to Italy,” he used to promise, , , i saw how worldy
his eyes got, buttery, in the middle of an asphalt parking lot, 110 degrees,

i remember waiting to get out,
and i did, , , never came out with a degree, buttered my name
upon loan papers; who the fuck isn’t in debt? must be nice to eat bread…

what does a warm buttered end piece taste like?
in Italy? burro italiano. amore italiana. soldi,
waiting tables, , , in Italy maybe?

13 waiting to be 30 – supposedly i’m supposed to have
my shit together, , ,
i hate commas, and something they call ‘patience’,
there goes another one!

today, i buttered me a piece of bread
It was delicious: every word of it.
serving myself Italian-style
didn’t realize god was makin’ it rain
manna honey. manna n’ honey
shit’s better than butter

italians visit my store in sf
i speak of bay area manna to them
in Italian; non ho fame
i welcome myself to the world: the Present: where milk and honey flows with each buttered second:
manna burying my feet planted
eyes as dry as an end piece, wide open:

for me and for my dad.mmmmmmmmmmmm

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…………miles brave

if you can think of what has never been done before, is your story done by someone else.
you lived it. the story, ah, yes! i bet you won’t have the same outline as mine.
here’s the hypo-watered down version, cliff-notes-esque to mine:

 
…………miles braver

1983…

mommy…

bulacan – diwa’t dwende

bakling

Pamilyaya

1990 non-immitigration trauma – stockton…

roaches, mold, asthMAMA!

english: jehoyahwehtnesses

lola dolores – tita myrna

near-death lessons. came outAnthony

bye bye stockton.

sf – city college – 40’s sunset-

mission, s.assaulted, h.i.,vIP

trauMAMAture; Victorrrrrrr

dahdee died 2012…closer to Him

health, the best in my—

consciousness: indigenizing

today: still frigh-10’ed-ing, not pre

one inch doing, 12 miles braving