Lizzy Hernandez

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Inspired by this: https://www.montereybayaquarium.org/animals/live-cams/monterey-bay-cam

Like the sound of the ocean when you put your ear against a conch shell

You hear it 

But you can’t see it

So you just press your ear against it

Imagining the waves rolling in and out

White foam for miles

You feel the ocean  breeze against your skin

Inhale the chilly air 

That hugs you in comfort

The sea is your home

You crab of an astrology sign

A seagull dives for a fish that struggles against his hungry beak

And the breeze that makes you forget what you were crying about

Makes the hair on your arms raise

And you wondered if you were hearing 

The beaches in Fort Bragg or Westport

Or maybe Centerville

Maybe Moonstone or Trinidad 

Maybe Agate Beach

And you swear you can see the fog rolling in

And it’s almost time to go in

And you pull the conch shell away and you fall from the shore 

Back onto your couch with the tv blaring

And you wonder if this is how you learned about selective hearing

There sat a woman at the bar lured out of bed by her bartender friend

Eyes red, tears streaming down, and friends around to try to push the blues away

“Someone probably broke her heart”

‘Magined myself in her shoes

Lured outta my bed i’d not left in days

Maybe a lover had crushed her

Or she’d lost a loved one

Or she’d gotten kicked out of grad school

Or disowned for supporting someone's rights

Its like my fears manifested in that woman at the bar

Thought back to countless days when i was baking at the bottom of a bleak furnace

Got myself there

Relied on myself to get out

I’d watch as others made their way out, resplendent now as they left this dark place

Took myself back to my inception

I was shapeless

Until the hand began

Forming the clay

Centering, shaping

Centering, shaping

Starting over and over again

Till a shape satisfiable formed

Next came the

Disappointment at the shrunken size dissipated when this potter gladly glazed me blue and green that’d blended to make a purple line separating the two colors

These days of forming clay got me out of bed as I saw myself being polished, made whole again

I just needed to create, remember that I came from dust and went to dust

In order to rid myself of this damning self- hate

Finally able to see the refining, the raising, the rising, the refining

Some days seeing crying women at the bar takes me back to those days covered in clay when I’d slowly fire my way into shape from the heat of the kiln

Yesterday, I ran into this lady’s face, and I think she freaked out
She got in my way, didn’t move quick enough
They see us gathered, don’t they know to get out of the way?
Today, I splished and splashed with my friends, soaking my wings
Even this street dweller needs a cleanse
Sometimes i think the human grime  is infecting me
So I fly away from the puddle, bath times over, my wings flap as I ascend
Heard a lady "ugh" in disgust-think my wet wings got her
A little karma for how filthy they let their streets get
Tomorrow, think i’ll stop foot traffic
Live up to the the reputation they give us
“Feral” they call us
“Disease-spreading” they say as we shit on their face
Don’t ya know we understand time and space
I’m a messenger
Transport home, I will
They’re trying to kick us out too
Trapping us and attempting to empty their cities of is

But we’ll fly right back home
Home to sf
“Flying rats” they call
Dontcha know
We diagnose
We collect air pollution data
We go on secret missions delivering messages

We're war heroes

Once hunted by the falcon

Now these people threaten our livelihood

Even though we’re

Wise enough to tell the difference between you and him

Able to recognize your language too, “A/b/c/d/e/f/g”

How do you think I wrote this p-o-e-m?
We the real word smiths
But please don’t feed us ‘cause its illegal here
This our city and ya can't get rid of us cause pigeon lives matter too

Maybe one day they’ll put us up in those fancy lofts again

Amongst the purple and white flowers,

i captured him

Standing tall, dignified, en paz

In his natural state, not smiling, nor posing

Just being

Being

What even is it

Existence

Dasein

Being there

There being

Together

Apart

Hand in hand

Arm in arm

Body beside yours

Canodling

Head rested against your warm, sun-kissed shoulder

In deep thought even with your back to me

We were walking through paths traveled by writers, singers, lovers, cynics, a man unknowingly on his way to death as he was shot dead by the police sitting at a bench up here

Caught in time

Developed now, this moment

I held this memory of you in my delighted hand

I admired your outline amongst the green, violets, greys

Later, sitting in the back of that cab en route to 653 Chenery, we would contemplate the cowardice of cynicism

I wondered how two cynics could create so much sweet, sweet bliss

Perhaps we’d discovered existentialism’s weakness

I held his hand tighter, squeezing him close as he wrapped his arm around me, I smiled up at him, and his face contorted with kindness, ever so tender

I suppose we were onto something