Sunshine is quiet
in the morning — it yearns to stay pristine. But
the birds mar it with their flight, and
tea kettles boil and
buses start running.

Nevertheless, sunshine is quiet in the morning.
Sometimes, if you have big windows and you
leave them open,
the curtains, that is –
(and they’d have to be east-facing) –
then the quiet sun would be a sight to see:

it would sneak
over rooftops and
expose things hidden in the night –
flowers, perhaps.

The dark dawn recedes;
the birds wake up; the slummy shops
open; the drunks wake
from their sidewalk beds.

The tea kettle boils.

– Raeme Miccio Gavino, 17

From the Spring 2011 book “Through the Looking Hand,” by students at International Studies Academy

Poem of the Month: May 2011

the ocean was spilling out
what did you do about it?
i don’t blame the fingers
sticky with undulated love
not the adventures in your the mind
flexible and up for grabs
not even the sneakers
worn out and laceless that somehow
always fit
i don’t blame your hips hiding in the past
the ocean was spilling out
and where were you to see it?
to be under its part of its cool caress
forget about this city close and relevant
about blue jays who fly in their sleep
forget about all these eraser marks
or about mind-blowing kisses
and learning how to cry all over again
the ocean was spilling out
irrecognizable

– Indiana Pehlivanova, 20

This poem was from the 2011 Poetry Projection Project.  Hear Indiana read her poem here.

Poem of the Month: April 2011

Footsteps imprint
sink into the sand
our footsteps are not alone today
printed with different patterns
cobwebbed peanut butter bottom Vans

concrete cranes invade
wires bombard trees
I think about how
your arms mold
but my foot imprint
remains the same

High tides
overflow
footprints
drain away
as if we were never here

I wish you were as consistent
as these tides
push up and push down this brown
paradise
low tide, high tide, tides always come
though
you are deep undertows
drop into the ocean and overflow

– Marcella Ortiz

From “City of Stairways: A Poet’s Field Guide to San Francisco”

Poem of the Month: March 2011

I love you like a bird loves its chicks
After they have learnt to fly
And don’t need her
Any longer

I know you like my father knows
The creases of maps

I need you like snow needs
The carnelian red of the rooftops

I crave the shape of your hands
Like children crave ice cream
On days so hot
That car paint leaks like muddy water

Sometimes I hate you like doors hate
Being slammed by strangers

But then I forgive you and love you
Like a bee loves to flutter to its hive
At nightfall-wings heavy with sleep

– Indiana Pehlivanova, age 19

From “City of Stairways: A Poet’s Field Guide to San Francisco”

Poem of the Month: February 2011

May it snow in San Francisco.
May the fishes talk to you.
May the sharks not eat people.
May the homeless have houses.
May you sleep in the clouds.
May your heart beat like a song.
May people not sweat in the summer.
May you swim in spaghetti.
May you travel in space.
May people not drown.
May your clothes glow in the dark.
When you get cut, may you not bleed.
May yams turn to hams.
May you be able to pick up a table with one finger.
May there be no guns.
May your world be full of shiny crystal pearls.
May your heart come out and see heaven.

– By WritersCorps students at Mercy Services

From the anthology “City of One” published by Aunt Lute Books

Poem of the Month: December 2010