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Writer's pictureWords For Change

A Letter to L.A. - By Tanya Castro

I.


You

with your smog fog

blinding us into a dark corner

of a sunny paradise

where UV rays extend

an invitation.


II.


At night, it is the only time we hear when the island trees puff.

If it is light that watches and sings in delight at the wealth thrown around


then does it sound freeing?


But, did you see the men in the corner waiting for work

waiting to jump in the back of that pickup truck,

gloom floats above their expectations


In reality it’s a race

between church and state

letting them choose who eats and who goes hungry.


III.


Then there’s the beginning. We hear the water, waves crashing, calming

a new sensation, brashly begging for attention

birds chanting


doesn’t it all sound liberating


But, do you hear that?

Our mothers gritando en español

about the American Dream,

about how rainbows are born

and how luck has everything to do with it.


IV.


We feel the shore on our rough skin

slipping away like runaway heartbeats

anticipating easy streets

boardwalks with soft serve fantasies of sand castles.


But, do you taste that?

Salt in the air tangs like blood on my tongue

slithering

across my cheek as you snake your way through life

claiming we have stolen opportunities

you didn’t even want.


V.


You

with your flashing lights

blinding us

into a dark corner

of a sunny paradise


photograph us into extinction.

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