Introduction by Mary Locke
While hard-hitting reporting on all matters of human rights has become Street Roots’ mainstay, vendor-contributed poetry has always been the nonprofit newspaper’s anchor. Recently, a number of Portland’s publishing professionals (PDX Magazine‘s associate editor among them) volunteered to comb through 15 years of Street Roots back issues to compile, edit, design, and publish an anthology of the most thoughtful, compelling, and enthralling poetry. In addition, PDX Magazine cover artist Chris Haberman contributed original art to the book’s cover, representing the myriad voices found in the anthology’s nearly 200 poems.
Though not all, a number of the selected poems were contributed by those experiencing homelessness. Many of the published poems are created during the newspaper’s weekly writing workshop, where vendor-poets gather to express themselves through the written word.
The result is a poetry anthology that examines all aspects of the human condition, not just issues of homelessness—issues that Street Roots actively works to alleviate. I Am Not a Poet: 15 Years of Street Roots Poetry and Art looks at themes of love, survival, hope, and humanity. The book also showcases art that tackles similar ideas, also sourced from previously printed Street Roots content.
Enjoy this exclusive excerpt of poems from I Am Not a Poet. Copies are available in both e-book and print form, from a Street Roots vendor near you, at local bookstores, and online at the book’s website: IAmNotAPoet.org.
Mirror
Twila Nesky
When my daughter laughs at me
with a voice just like my own,
or flashes that black mane of hair
and cuts a blue-eyed gaze
guaranteed to devastate
every male creature
within a hundred yards of her
I finally realize,
that I was once beautiful.
Underpass
Cedara Rios
And I see a man
with a shovel
his little dog looks on
Near the side of the underpass
the ground is disturbed
by a lonely concavity
And I wonder what he
buried there
The Assembly
Yvonne Ingram
standing together we gathered
around a transit kiosk
assembled to wait for the bus
eyes peeled
looking for a glimpse
of our ride in the oncoming traffic
some of us glance nervously
at our watches and mumble
about schedules and the weather
a woman asks if the forty-four
has come yet.
we are a group of individuals
like a theater crowd
we dance in the cold
waiting for our chariot to come
the tallest in topcoat and tie
carries a briefcase
a boy with books and
a name-printed skateboard
a woman in a yellow sweater shivers
in the early morning chill
a child holds her mother’s
red and black plaid skirt
our lives in step only at this moment
we don’t converse
and only occasionally glance around
to see each other’s faces
our heads swivel at hissing brakes
and as the bus slows for a stop
we enter the open door
and take our seats
Mirror Pond in Bend
Verlena Orr
A young couple holds hands, and drift
the grassy edge of Mirror Pond
geese that live here have mated for life
This first day of this summer calls up an old winter
when my favorite bar went broke. Now, memory
opens the doors of the finest places with no cover
Metolious Headwaters, the Deschutes, Paulina Lake,
its obsidian edge. Will they close, give up in despair,
move to a better location?
Today, I walk the pond’s circle
memorize its new reflections—
with blonde roses, pale azure iris
paired geese giggling
as I move closer
to their happiness
I Think I’ll Take the Groceries Home (in the Bags under My Eyes)
C. A. Mesch
walking onto the street
urine on the wall from last night’s dream
outside—the grocery boy’s inhaling cigarettes
the hole in my sock feels the chill of the air
eggs, beans, and Frito-Lays
standing in line as if not quite there
another late morning or elderly afternoon
with the sun hiding confusion in my mouth
the checkout girl smiles
“paper or plastic?”
my unfortunate face draws a blank
victim of a certain crime
another stray shot in the dark
Old Man, a Dog—in St. Johns
Jay Thiemeyer
gimpy old man, limping
walking a service dog
leading the dog by a handle
like he’s pouring tea
turns a corner and disappears
leaving on the Bridge to see
across the speeding neighborhood street
tables twisted with people
words inaudible, suggested in gestures
clothes off the rack
restraint feeble
lining asphalt and concrete
providing suggestion of life and green
trees rattle and choke in the wind
leaves turn inside out
trunks piercing like dogs’ tongues
but fresher breath
could be an architect’s pencil-in
fresh from the crowd of condos
mangling the view of the Forest
stoplight present in its trough overhead
a calm in the agitation
speaks little, says much
to a captive intersection
swings like a metronome
and I am mesmerized