R.I.Poetry

Each time I smell Lime and Verbena
I remember Wheeler hall
flyers outside the door
To Chicano Studies
[Protest Sweat Shops]
[Work for the Environment]
[18 and Over at Bancroft on Tuesdays]

(Don’t be mad this poetry has Italics, punctuation and weird symbols, I know you hated that. You said poetry should just be the words and not all that other grammar crap}

I tried to tell myself
UC Berkeley wasn’t a monster
Kept reading over the words stapled and thumb tacked
Trying to distract myself from the inconsistencies in my
‘What if people know I’m a transfer student?’
‘What if this was a mistake’

first day
You walked in and said,
Hey class
I’m a poet
You can call me Profe Or Alfred
We’re going to have literature in here
a.k.a. a blast
We’re gonna read
Bless me Ultima
And The Last Generation
An Intro to Chicano Poetics

Deep into semester
Anaya’s narrative sparked interest
You said
Write your own story
About what Ultima would do
In response to a current event
Take the character out of the book
Talk to her
Continue the parks…

You gave us Lorna Cervantes’ Poem
4 page genius entitled, Coffee
Made us protest through pens
Six years later
I’ve never found a piece so moving
So urgent

Later after I studied abroad in Brazil
Back at CAL when I felt I owned it
I returned to your course
The one you held in your office
The poet’s society
Ever Monday from 1-5
9 of us hung out on your headquarters couches
Read-aloud our written progressions
Workshop scribbles and the excitement in knowing
That these written babies would grow

That was the year when my sister was four
I wrote to her
And you said
The world needs poetry like this
Poets like you

Later I wondered
Why there weren’t more Profe’s giving classes on couches
In deconstruct spaces
You invited us to write in Paris
Always spoke of Mexico
La madre tierra
I pictured you in your favorite stories
About drinking Carona’s on the beaches of Cancun

This November
When I arrived in Cancun
I thought of your tales
It had already been two years after your passing
And it looked just the way
Your words had given life to me
On those sofa’s at CAL
Behind Wheeler hall
Where I became a poetist
And I couldn’t help but wonder
If I’d ever get the chance to
Write you again

To breath poetry into chalk boards
Bend rules of esoteric knowledge
A classroom on cushions
Poetry on high
And I wondered if I’d ever get to write you again
To say thank you
For making Cal worth it
For realing my dreams

May you rest in Poetry