Everything that Happened on the Ranch

A collection of poems.

Pin Me Down & I’ll Cry 

There were these two siblings, let's call them Ed & Eddy because I can’t recall their names. 

Eddy was always the follower. I'd say no opinions of her own. No thoughts in her head. Nothing but a blank stare that made you uncomfortable. If you saw her, you’d awkwardly place your sweaty palms into the pit of your pockets; hoping her bulging eyes and heavy breathing would be demanded elsewhere. 

Ed was the leader, apparently innocent in his parents' eyes. But a mastermind troublemaker was under their noses. He was a few years older than me but barely towered me by three inches. Ed had no respect for anyone. He said and did as he pleased. Blind to the consideration of other people's existence. 

The last I remember of Ed & Eddy was on the ranch. Our parents quickly befriended each other. One day we were invited over to Ed & Eddy’s ranch for a small gathering. The kids were outside kicking dirt while the adults drank Modelos and goat milk (what a terrible mixture). I was alone, at first, sitting on the tire swing, counting all the cars passing. When I saw the other kids group inside the chicken coop. I hesitated but tailed them inside because I couldn't see what they were doing from outside. The closer I got, I heard massive gasps and clucking. Ed had started a rooster fighting ring. I can't remember if kids were gambling dollars or pennies or at all.  I had never seen roosters fight. (I wasn't aware that roosters fought for dominance.) I didn't know they could be aggressive creatures. They flapped air with their feathers, the hair on their necks flared, and they were rapid on their feet. As a kid, it just looked like a cartoon fight- tornado-style. 

It didn't take me long to keep my mouth shut. I didn't like that the roosters fought and wanted it to stop. I told Ed under a mumble. The more he ignored me, I screamed. All he did was spit the words “so what” in my face. I had threatened to fight him. Not fist fight, but wrestle. My back was pinned to the ground in 30 seconds, and he held me there, mockingly. He only let me go once everyone else said to. I bolted out with tears running down my 8-year-old cheeks.

Winter In Summer

I’ve never experienced snow. 

well, I have but I was an unconscious 

baby. 

When I picture snow, I see 

Switzerland; a magical reality 

of the north pole. 

Winters in California are nothing 

like Switzerland. No white, fluffy 

mountains or snow that can reach 

your waist. 

So I created my own winter 

during summer   when I was seven 

On my ranch, we had this gazebo

on top of the hill. Before it got 

chipped and creaky, it was 

beautiful. The type of place 

you sit at night and watch 

snowflakes fall. 

Though they could never fall. 

You can only imagine that part. 

I had this red sled I would drag 

by a rope to the top of the gazebo. 

Then I’d slide down quicker 

than I climbed up. 

Weeds would get caught 

in my socks, and poke my arms, 

but the thrill of the drop 

distracted me from the pricking 

In my head, I was smashing 

through snowmen and skidding 

past reindeer. 

When I got to the bottom, 

I’d do it all over again. 

Each time a different scenario.

My favorite: The one with frostbite 

at my fingertips,  

my tongue sticking out to taste snow, 

breathing in the woodsy scent, 

and a frozen lake not too far 

in the distance asking me 

to ice skate.

Her Kids

The night so silent

wind chatters

the whispers sing

to children’s ears

La Llorona materializes

by a flicker of light

quickly, we blanket

ourselves like burritos

getting toasted

by the campfire

we sit as shivers

to a deafening screech

as the firepit crackles