Tag: San Francisco

If You Get Caught Between Nashville & San Francisco

Published on by @DwPolkLeave a comment

ditch the politics, keep the people, americans both, but yes, they are different, things people say in tennessee but not in san francisco: i know some good fishing spots, have a blessed day, by the grace of god, bless your heart, thank you for your service, y’all gonna drive to the beach?, i remember that leann rimes’ album.., y’all gonna get some hot chicken?, y’all been reading your scripture?, you applying to UTK?, beat bama, she went back to the lord, but in tennessee no one ever says: i’ll order a waymo, he works for apple, google, genentech, fill in the tech blank, i’m buying a rivian, you surf?, my vinyasa class was SO hard, i went on a meditation retreat, i’m going to talk to my therapist about it, i’m going to LA for the weekend, do you want to get burritos?, its snowing in tahoe, the fog is in, people ask me to compare and contrast, and here’s what i might say: i like tennessee because people are more down to earth, even if someone is wealthy, it isn’t cool to act like you are above others, but in san francisco that isn’t always the case: i like san francisco because there aren’t any chiggers and straight-line wind storms looking to wreak havoc on your body/home, so to bring it back to christopher cross, i live in san francisco, but both places are home.

Gazing at Longevity Peaches

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this is that poem, the one where the writer visits a museum, stares for a long time, tries to transcribe, translate, imbibe one artform into another, so here i am, san francisco, qi baishi, his peaches, better than super mario bros., ty cobb, safeway’s produce section, sickly sweet del monte in a can, better than ice cream, shout out sarah mclachlan, maybe not better than ice cream, but i’ve never seen frozen dessert so delectably hung on a wall, and to think he lived (1864) & died (1957) fully immersed in art, the way i want to swim in letters, inspiring, the colors, the colors, spheres, juice-filled suns on earth, made by human hands, human hands.

Homeless Ice Cream

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every morning i drive by ben & jerry’s
haight-ashbury, hippie history 
he sleeps on sticky stairs 
remnants of mint chocolate chip, the
sugary smell underneath sleeping bag
comforts his drunk, drugged out body 
pressed against concrete like
ice cream against waffle cone, but
this isn’t dessert, i think 
of the hundreds of tourists’ feet
smiling, licking 
walking on his bed