Xochime for Barrio Hollywood

This is a Flashback poem. I wrote this in 2006.... I think. It is a love letter to a Barrio in West Side, La Tusa. This is one of the oldest Barrios in Tucson; I say, one of, cause other Barrios claim they are the oldest, and I don't wanna be spittin false facts and shit. Plus I don't wanna start any more pedo between Barrio HW and Barrio Anita. Ya dig?

Hollywood is where my homies are from, and they shared their Barrio with me. For that I will always be grateful.

So many memories, from Speedway to Saint Mary's and from Silverbell to the Santa Cruz. In this hood, I took pieces of many stories and put them in my pocket. From Tecatos gettin down at Zig Zag Park to children in blue and white uniforms, walking home together from the bus. From waiting in line for a blow job from La Angie to falling in love with my lady on St. Clair block.

These experiences added thickness to my skin como los patas of a pipa spinner, walkin around barefoot, on side walk, in a Arizona Summer. But left my heart tender como the Saguaro that grows in front of my Chantlaca Abie's Chante.

I wrote this poem with the intention that it be a little blanket to bring warmth for este Barrio. So that I may pay my respect to Mary Lopez, a wise and sometimes foul mouthed elder of the nieghborhood; who covered me with a blanket when I was passed out, from a night of des madre.

So specifically Abie, Ricky and Neto times is hard, homies. I know this. But we are role models to young ones now. Whether we embrace it or not. Its true. I love ya'll, man.

Barrio Hollywood this ones for you......

Xochime for Barrio Hollywood

Amor in the Dub,
I walk the streets,
greeted by Westside Love

Round the ditch
and under a tree.
Three vatos
give me,
a shake and a pound
while they down,
six packs of Miller's.
One guero, un viejo
y el flaco;
have ceremony,
under el arbol.

Hollywood dreams,
not of Califas
but Ariza.
Where in concrete caves,
lovers write their names:
A dedication from a homeboy to his baby girl.
This is the Love that constructs my world.

Just like un
hombre on Ontario street.
Who, from the bellows of his soul erupted a corrido,
so sweet, it carried the beat of my feet.
It is on these roads adorned with blue and gold.
That I find comfort from minds that remain froze,
on the notion that currency keeps the life force burnin.

They put themselves out!
Cause the warmth I've found,
sprouts from where the sun shines down,
on the people that live
laugh
loathe
and love.

On the brown side of town.

Injected with cold chemical drugs
yet still rising above,
masked medicines,
for lonely,
depressive,
states of mind.
States of being.

Alive, but unseen
are the offerings of Tonanzin.
Cause to Popoca

Mostly
Only
The
After

is a blessing and a healing,
a ceremonious feeling
falling over, dirt yards and ditches.

As we blow clouds of conversation.
Seeing our world through smoke and mirrors,
we share our lives.
Trying to hide.
But not denying that,
deep
dark
black
figure
One hand on the smoke,
the other clutching an obsidian trigger.

P.S. Don't put me down if I'm brown : Here what i say......