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Bay Poets

'Pochequis Christ' by poets soledad con carne

soledad con carne is a casually queer, intergalactic chicanx punk poet, working/poor multiple high school drop-out, Left Antenna of Cucatlicue Collective, San Fernando Valley parking lot Cryptid, and blatant smoker sharing-trauma-with-their-mother. Their debut chapbook, SFV OR DIE, Foo', was published with Lilac Press in 2024: with features in articles from the San Francisco Chronicle's Datebook, KALW's Sights and Sounds, L.A. Taco's "Best 38 books of 2024," and The Latinx Project's "La Treintena" out of NYU.

Pochequis Christ

Three days after my crucifixion

I followed a limping man to Oakland

after getting my heart broken in Los Angeles

one-hundred-and-forty-seven times

BART passes thru Mictlan on the way to San Francisco

where the Pochos grow poems and revolution

in every sidewalk crack down 24th and Mission

the neighborhood folks plant maíz in the pleats

of the murals displaying La Pachuca Supreme

where Lorna Dee used to dream above Frida’s left eye

Three years after my crucifixion

The fifth seraphim, La Giggles, with wingtip eyeliner

and rubber chola bracelets weaving thru her wings

let me know, “aye, like, it's time to go Home,”

and turned Broadway and Columbus into the same bushfire

Dios used to tell Moses to stop being a pinche pendejo

Over the GreyHound speaker Metatron announces:

“now approaching the LAnd

of Serendipity, Frijoles, and Visions

of the surreal y chingon kind, tu sabes,”

and there’s breaking news disruptions

declaring the Devil has invaded San Pancho

but I know that’s a lie cuz, swear, I saw that foo’

when we drove thru Bako

the bus drops me off on Parthenia and Van Nuys

where Chunti Girls with bougainvillea flowers in their hair

surrounded by Poppy Flowers and Prickled Pears

still anoint murals of Tonantzin

with strawberry Cheladas and roll-on perfume,

the full “She Hangs Brightly” album plays on the wind

they see me step off the bus with my Goodwill suitcase

that looks like your abuela’s living room sofa

re-plant the wilted bougainvillea on my scalp

hand me a dos equis, hug me and hold me

and welcome me Home.

OSZAR »