not less than everything

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Writings by residents of the Safe Haven Homeless Shelterin San Antonio, Texas

in partnership with Gemini Ink,readers and writers today and tomorrow

Spring 2010

not less than everything

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not less than everythingWritings by residents of the Safe Haven Homeless Shelter

in San Antonio, Texas

in partnership with Gemini Ink,readers and writers today and tomorrow

Spring 2010

Writer-in-ResidenceTrey Moore

Illustrations by Robert Poschmann

Layout, Design and EditingDaniel Torres, Kimee Johnson, Gemini Ink internsAnisa Onofre, Writers in Communities Director

Special Thanks toRobert Washington for funding of this project,

Safe Haven Program Coordinator Vanita De Leon, and Recovery Support Specialist Priscilla Alvear

Student work has been edited as lightly as possiblein order to honor the original voices

513 S. Presa St.San Antonio, Texas 78205

www.geminiink.org210-734-WORD

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Not Less Than Everything is printed on Nina environment mesa white 80 pound paper, with a 100 pound gloss cover. Poem titles have been set in Herculanum type, the text in Philosopher type.

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Foreword

Trey Moore, Writer-in-Residence

What can you say? No. Really, what can you say? I’ve thrown a thousand words at sincerity, hard-work, compassion, and rebirth; and never gotten any closer to these concepts than I have in my workshop with the men and women of Safe Haven. Sharing with this community of fine-minded and strong-willed people was one of the most profound moments in my life. I left each class confi-dent, occasionally sated from that nagging hunger for everything but food. The aloneness, the separateness would disappear some-where in that hour, and as a class, we learned to honor our voices through strength of experience and confidence in our natural way of expression. We covered the entire spectrum of human under-standing, because each person brought so much to the workshop. But mostly, let’s be honest, we tricked ourselves through all that hard work with tenderness and laughter.

We could talk about the details—what we lost, oh everything. But what we found, jangles like tiny treasures around our necks—com-munity, spirit, power, and beautiful, sweet life in all of its incom-prehensibleness. Friends, don’t worry. Just be. And read the pow-erful, lovely words of these men and women, whose voices rise up into song from these smog-filled streets.

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We shall not cease from explorationAnd the end of all our exploringWill be to arrive where we startedAnd know the place for the first time.Through the unknown, remembered gateWhen the last of earth left to discoverIs that which was the beginning;At the source of the longest riverThe voice of the hidden waterfallAnd the children in the apple-treeNot known, because not looked forBut heard, half-heard, in the stillnessBetween two waves of the sea.Quick now, here, now, always—A condition of complete simplicity(Costing not less than everything)And all shall be well andAll manner of thing shall be wellWhen the tongues of flame are in-foldedInto the crowned knot of fireAnd the fire and the rose are one.

Excerpt from T.S. Eliot’s “Little Gidding”

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LossesHannah Rush

I have lost far too much,To play at listingOr to look at an isolatedPerson, place, thingWithout looking at them allAnd fifteen or twenty minutes is not enoughTo mourn and to savorThe never-again-to-be.I now realizeEvery moment is never-again-to-beI learn to inhale and taste all; every nuanceTo have the experience and not miss the meaning,As it were, concentrating without eliminating, and perhapsApproaching Eliot’s condition of complete simplicity,Having nearly paid the toll of not less than everything.

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La CenaEva Ronquillo

Aquí estoy otra vezEsperando que lleguerLe puse manteles nuevosA la mesa y un candeleroCon su vela rosa que nosAlumbrabaMientras renovamos Pero nunca llegaste

Se quedó la mesa y dos sillasLa vela y el candelero Esperándote y también mi corazónMe quedé esperándote tambiénLos dos vasos quedanEl vino allí están todavíaEsperándote también las uvasY la fruta que nunca a de comer.

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The DinnerEva Ronquillo

Here I am once againHoping that you will come. I put new linensOn the table and a candle With its pink glow That Illuminated usAs we renewed.You never came.

The table and the two chairs remainedThe candle and the candleholderWaiting for you along with my heart.I waited for you, too. The two glasses remain. The pink wine is still in them. Even the grapes wait for you And so does the fruit that you will never eat.

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Old SchoolLucilia Garcez

Sometimes you think of our livesAt a more simple time,Learning lessons and consequences,Listening to my dad as we picked vegetablesfrom our garden,Always, always asking questions,Following him around to see What I could learn.Funny, I still remember always saying:“¿Verdad que si papi?” and “¿Porque papi?”Being his confidante taught me one thing—he always talked to meas if I could understandmore than most kids did—So, the most important thing he ever said was:“Nunca confíes en un hombre que no te ve los ojos cuando habla.”Which translates to“Never trust a man whocannot look you straight in the eyes.”He is no good.

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Nature PoemPeter Williams

As I walk outdoors,I feel my feet leave from pavement toThe lawn of broke-off branches and parts of hard dirt.Through my ears I hear the moving traffic soundLike in a tunnel by the side, from where I was.Also, I feel the luke-warm wind blowing around my arm and head.All of a sudden, a gush of chill wind blows all around me.I enjoy the mood of a blind person.

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DancingJudy Ann Caceres

Beautiful long flowing hair, short black dress,Stiletto heels, long beautiful legs, I smile.Blue jeans, white long sleeve, shirt tucked in,Boots, cowboy hat, tall and handsome,He smiles.Who are you?Where did you come from?Nothing but short men come here.Eyes meet smiles,Excited.Is he married?Does he have a girlfriend?Girlfriends aren’t a problem,But wives are.Turning to see if he’s still looking, and he isSmiles, smiles,Walking towards me.Would you like to dance?Heart pounding “yes.”Looking into your eyes I wonder,Who is this man?We continue to dance through the night,Getting to know one anotherOur eyes meet every time we dance and talkSlow song finally.Looking into your eyes I wonder if you can see as deep as I canCan you see my heart pounding?My passion?My love?Do you know my feet are killing me?I can hardly stand up.Will he try to kiss me?I will kiss him. Kiss.

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My ManDonna Haley

What you’re like to me—Lost and confusedLike a fallen leaf from a treeBlowing in the windJust as I am.As time passes usWe will grow spiritualIn our lives apart.Then we’ll come togetherLove one another Start our new life together.

LostShelton Bell

I lost my father, my best friend,One who would stick through thick and thin,A person that became close to my heart,But when he passed, it was ripped apart,But then a light shined on my life,Oh my God! I have acquired a wife,What I found in the end, what you had once Can come again.

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AwakeningJudy Ann Caceres

Where have I been?Confusion, fear, alone,Fantasy for a long time,“Hearing and seeing things that aren’t there,” he said,The lizard man and his wife—he’s not,The lady, and her friend that flies—they don’t,The wizard of A, he’s not,I guess I’m not the chosen one,No you’re not,But they were there,I saw and heard them,But they’re not,Awakened,My mind is quiet now,Calmness,Trying to pick up the pieces,What happened? Where did it all go?It’s all gone,Back from fantasy,It is time to live again,Where is she?She’s gone,Where is he?He’s gone.All that’s left is me,God, God, are you still there?

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Remembering West VirginiaLucilia Garcez

The most gorgeous colorsI’ve ever seen were the treesIn West Virginia, in autumn.Rolling down the steep mountainsLooking down atThe valleys below.As a young girl,I grew up in the fields.Picking tomatoes, picking cotton.Waiting for lunch timeWhen the trunk of the carWould open up and out cameThe tacos.Tacos have never tasted so goodSince then. Could it just be the adventureOf being out there. I know it was work forEverybody else, but for me it was just timeTo explore, because what I picked was so small,It probably didn’t count at the end of the day.You can bet it was me crying,“Yo pappi, yo pappi.”To be the one chosenTo ride on top of all the cottonGoing back to town.As we got into town.You can bet, I was waving at everybody Just like the princess I thought I was.

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The PainterWilliam FitzSimon

To take a rough exterior and changeThe look and color.To see an unfinished projectAs a finished lookTo see the transformationThat I think is true artLike picturing a house in the countrysideThat looks picture perfect.Do you know why there are so many colors?God loves colors.

NatureValerie Robinson

Tree bark, squirrel and birds,Camouflage,Waving hello to the blue sky,White cotton puff clouds caress.

Pink ribbons of sunshine,Shrubs beside trees like little children on their tippy-toes holding their parents’ hands,Standing beside tall trees,Air–cool crisp parents,Odorless fresh.

Freely, uniquely, breezy kissing,My face,My cheeks,My lips.

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Natural LucyHannah Rush

She has a terrible toothacheAnd naturally curly, naturally brown hair,She is very naturalSitting there in her mysteriouslyVanishing/reappearing red sweaterAnd psychedelic glassesBarely holding back her laughter,With Mickey Mouse in a whatever poseOn her T-shirtWhile she, quite uncomfortable being looked at, doodles on her paper.Unaccountably, she has seven painted nailsAnd three natural onesWhich makes her chuckleIn her snide-dog way.She is also very naturally short,She didn’t have to buy a bottle of that, And she is naturally a miraculous friend.

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InspiraciónEva Ronquillo

¿Dónde estás tú, inspiración mía? ¿O estás aquí dentro de mí? ¿Vas conmigo?Donde voy nunca te dejaré, esperanza mía.

Eres mi vida por quien vivo Estoy aquí escribiendoEstas flores blancas y Rosas rojas a donde voy sin tiCreo que a ninguna parte.

Soy feliz así contigoImaginándome contigo hasta el cielo azulEs mi inspiraciónLas espinas de las rosasMuy cariñosas y muy felices

Con las espinas en los dedosDe mis manos. O Inspiración míaRosas míasCielo azulMi inspiración.

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InspirationEva Ronquillo

Where are you, my inspiration? Or are you here inside of me? Will you go with me where I go? Wherever I go I will never leave you, my hope.

You are my life for whom I liveI am here writingThese white flowers andRed roses. Where will I go without you?I believe nowhere.

I am happy this way with youImagining me with you -- even the blue skyThis is my inspirationThe thorns of the rosesSo affectionate and so happy

With the thorns in the fingersOf my hands.Oh, my inspirationMy rosesBlue SkyMy inspiration.

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As A Young Child I HurtTara Lewis

As a young child I hurt,But why should I?Childhood is fun,But not for me,I hurt.Oh no, here it goes again,How long will this go on?

I am a child full of life.

ResponSE to a LetterWilliam FitzSimon

The person who let the secret out,Is showing unconditional love,The person must be real special,For someone to keep loving you so much,It being so unconditional of caring. I have stopped loving you.

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What Is Home?Hannah Rush

As to the particulars,I remain a bit puzzled,For what, by standard measure, should be most decidedly, is not while,The most unexpected, not expectable conditions,Suddenly, ridiculously, completelyAreWhere we find whole sustenance,And know sweetness,Just by being.

UntitledDonna Haley

Remember whenOur song playedAs we danced and laughed together.Remember whenLife was up and down.Remember whenI cried and you’d wipe my tears.Remember whenThis time will pass.Remember when,Our life will last.

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Alone in San Jose, CaliforniaTifani Garcia

New City,17 years-old,Place to live,Don’t know how long I can stay.Met a guy,He took me to dinner so I got some food,I let him fall in love with me,So I’d have somewhere to go,Within a couple of weeks, I moved in with him.

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Work Tifani Garcia

I kept looking at the same ad. Afraid to answer it.I talked my roommate into going with me.I was nervous as I could be.I dressed nicely and got all made up.The guy running the ad was sick.This guy was named Sam.He was in sweats.He was the same age as me.He had a day job to pay the billsRunning dancer was like some fantasy.He called his company the“Adult Entertainment Network.”His other dancers did fully nude shows.I had taken ballet and tap as a kidAnd done some funky stuff for talent shows.He seemed to like me.He invited me back two nights laterTo meet some of the other girls.They were doing a clubWhich was unusual for them.Most of his girls did private shows.But I was looking for bikini.I didn’t start dancing right away.We started a relationship.Eventually we met other promoters With bikini shows.I started bikini dancing.For quite a while,I was a hit.It was decent money.I met a lot of people.

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Darkest DayJuan Luna

If I could paint,I would color a smile,Use the brightest colors to give it style,I would name it “Remember” so to never forget all good things in life,Some days are struggles—other days blue skies,I see children, who know no better,Who live life on their own,It takes a village to show them right from wrong,I’m no better,It’s all you and I,We need to show them we’re not born just to die.If I could paint,I would color a heart,A little patience and understanding is where I should start,It would bleed soft and bright just to let them know,From the darkest day,The light will show.

UntitledAnonymous

How do stars settle for less?This means never give up on yourself,Keep going for stars.We call on us to do right things.Life is God if you want.Do better for yourself.

Never stop looking to better.

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HaikusTara Lewis

Haiku #1Hello world,Goodbye,Hello ugly world,Goodbye today,Hello tomorrow.

Haiku #2Baby crying in crib,Mother no where to be found,Hungry for love.

Haiku #3Son’s lost. MotherOut drugging. BabiesHome alone,No food for them.So sad.

Haiku #4A 19 year girl full of life,But now she has lost herSelf, no where to be foundOr where are my children.For life has passed me by,Now she is a woman.

Haiku #5Today is the first day of my life,So hard, for life is too much for me.But I must, I must go on, for tomorrowMay never come for me, forI hear the voices say “No Tomorrow just today.”

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The Effect of NoiseShelton Bell

When I went outside I didn’t hear a bird,The loud rapping of music is what I heard,Being outside is a wonderful thing,It makes me anticipate the coming of spring,Being out at night is wonderful to behold,Especially if it’s breezy and not cold,Being outside makes me calm, But listening to loud rapping is like a bomb.

WorkPeter Williams

Waking up on a raining morning preparing myself for work. I felt the feeling of my rubber boots splashing in the water, and as the rain drips from my coat. I felt happy on the way to work in my rain gear. Three are on the job, I felt the cush-ion of the seat, a joke with the crew as we ride looking for a street to work on. The sound of cool music, along with the squeaking windshield wipers. There was this sudden stop, out of the truck with the grip of my shovel moving mud so the water can flow to the catch basin rising up from a hurt-ing back as I stretch to bend again; and I thank God for a job like this to take away my drinking habits. At the end of the day, I was happy again to go home to my apartment to pre-pare for tomorrow. Upon returning from six months of work, I run around the park a few times to get the tiredness out of me. After showering and laying on my back, I can feel the fluids in my body laying on my back, arriving at work I felt a lot of energy inside of me.

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MaryValerie Robinson

AnalyticEclecticLyricUnique

SpecificGlobalDoppler

AlphaOmegaTelescopicKaleidoscopic

CosmicMysticMercuricDistant

NearFocusedEtherealEccentric

ElectricAthleticPacificProzac

PoeticSyllabicQuickCryptic

CitricMusicAcoustic Satiric

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My ChildrenTara Lewis

Here I am high on crackO where my kids?I don’t know, butWhy should I know?For here I amHigh on crack.

PainKenneth Horn

What is pain?We all ask in vain.When things don’t go our way,Why does pain like to stay?Is it ‘cause we are weak?Or is it what we seek?Nothing is like the feeling of pain,Not even a warm September rain.Pain can be caused when you’re mad,Or when you’re sad.Pain can be so evil,Worse than jumping through hoops of fire like Knievel.So what is pain?What do we gain?Pain is like a ball,It’s like being slammed against the wall.Pain is on the run,To catch and ruin our fun.Pain can be a big boom,Like being in a closed small room,So I pull my boots on for the day,Pain is not here to stay.So pain is such a big mess,So God bless the day we are painless.

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El ChaHannah Rush

All of us bear-hugged by heatSmelling sun, sweat, dirt,Sharp tomatoes and insecticideLegs crampingRed bucket everywhere we areLooking out over vast green dottedWith dense red fruitsWondering does it ever end?Somewhere, he says,It’s like the fuckin ocean though—We’ll never see the other side.I’ve been to the other side,Claims the guy in the coyote bandanaAnd court jester bootsGuess what’s there?More Tomatoes!!Then he slaps my backFalls, and rolls in the dirtCrying with joyWorshipping divine absurdity.What did you expect? A condo?Rising, he brushes himself offEmpties a bucket to use as a seatMakes himself comfortableThey call me ViracochaCha, to my friends,Which you all areAnd here is what you need to know.Time past and time future are allContained in time present…Ah shit, there I goQuoting Eliot again,But that’s the gist of it you know;This tomato picking is sacredBecause the tomatoes are sacred.

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You are sacredBoth of you giving yourselves to the pickingAnd the other sideIs the same as this side.Sanctity creating itself.This is the basis of high civilization,Passionate livingAnd good parties.Then we sharedJugs of wine and loaves of breadAll of us beside each otherEnough.Cha bathed us in the canalKissed our heads all smilingAnd road off on a water buffaloSinging, si se puede.Who knows?

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Learning To Be PunctualTifani Garcia

Is important.It shows responsibility.You don’t want to be late for appointmentsIt makes you seem flaky.As if it doesn’t matter.I’m trying to decideWhat kind of a career path to take.Trying to figure out whatI want to do as a job.I’m not sure whatI would be good at.I don’t think I have marketable skillsSo, I’m in need of skills training.

The CarTara Lewis

As the cars go by I think,Of my life as a car,What kind would I be?VWLong out of style,Full of life,Going here, going there,All over untilMy car has broke down,No! Not my VW!Oh well,Life goes on,My car is gone,In the wind, gone, bye my car,For you have been good to me,Time to rest me, VW.

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Last DayKenneth Horn

Here I am on this day,Wishing I was at bay,Getting Ready for my mate,Are we ready for our fate,Cause she’s late for our date,I was preparing the meat,So we all could eat,She used to get beat,That’s how we got to meet,Her ex-boyfriend was so weak,Not sure if he wore a beak,Like an evil bird,He never said a word,He was on dope,One day he hung himself with a rope,I took a peek,To see what she “seek’d”She was so full of hate,I told her I would wait,And that pure love is a willingness to give without thought of receiving anything in return,So I had pure love,It didn’t come from above,It came to me like a white dove,So she said okay,And that’s why it was my last day.

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I Remember YouJudy Ann Caceres

I remember you.When the doctor said, “You have a new life inside of you.”The nurse brought you to me all bundled up like a cocoonTiny.I said, “Hi sweetie, I’m your mom and you’re my sweetie.”Yams and bananas you loved.Lots of baby rolls on your bodyAnd a smile that you gave me every time I looked at you.Pictures you had so manyBeautiful dresses and socks to match,Pink of course.Your first word was kitty, not Mom,Not Dad.Many birthday parties and friends,The bike,The beach that you loved,Holding your tiny hands so the water wouldn’t take you away,Kicking the water with your feet and laughing,Seagulls that you fed,The first day of school,The small boots and blouse you had to have for that special day,So many costumes I made: bunny, mummy, witch and cat were a few,Yummy cookies that we made,Talent shows were great,The bump on your forehead was not,Learning to drive the ‘57 Mustang,The dates were few,The cell phone was a mistake,Graduation was great,College was not.Now you’re fighting for your country,Who would have thought?So many wonderful memories I have that no one can take,I think of you often Sweetie, Love, Mom.

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MenudoJudy Ann Caceres

This menudo is greatSliced onions and lemons, chile,Corn tortillasMan, this lady is hard to get along withShe’s rude and hateful to everyoneBut she makes the best menudo in town.I wonder who she invitedKnock on the doorMarty and Gloria. Belen, Hi!And little Ray-RayHe’s gotten so big.Did you make chile?Whoever doesn’t want menudo, I make chile, tooWith crackers.I don’t like menudo or chile,I bought McDonalds for us!I’ll take a pata.Not me.Do you have tea?Yes.I want butter on my tortilla,It smells so good in here.Knock on the door.Oh, it’s little Marty and Norma and the kids.Smells good!I brought sodas—Big Red and Coke.The kids are going to eat because I brought some for them.I hope we can have seconds.I don’t know.Dad’s here.

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DancingJudy Ann Caceres

Beautiful long flowing hair, short black dress, Stiletto heels, long beautiful legs, I smile.

Blue jeans, white long sleeve, shirt tucked in, Boots, cowboy hat, tall and handsome, He smiles.

Who are you? Where did you come from?Nothing but short men come here. Eyes meet smiles, Excited.

Is he married?Does he have a girlfriend?Girlfriends aren’t a problem, But wives are.

Turning to see if he’s still looking, and he is Smiles, smiles, Walking towards me.Would you like to dance?Heart pounding “yes.”

Looking into your eyes I wonder, Who is this man?We continue to dance through the night, Getting to know one anotherOur eyes meet every time we dance and talk Slow song finally.

Looking into your eyes I wonder if you can see as deep as I can Can you see my heart pounding?My passion My loveDo you know my feet are killing me?I can hardly stand up.

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Will he try to kiss me?I will kiss him. Kiss.Will he ask for my number?I will give it to him.

555-9979,Will he call?

DinnerRobert Martin

I met with my girlfriend for dinner. We talked for a while, before ordering food. We continued to talk even when the food came. We were so fascinated with each other’s looks and talking to one another, that we never got hungry at the restaurant.

ResponSE To A LetterHannah Rush

My memory soothes my feelingElsewhereWith new music—the poet said,Music is feeling then, not sound.The feeling of pregnant orchardsClean air after a rainAnd love always coming homeLeading usElsewhereAlways melodiously freshFragrantNew.

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Response to A LetterTara Lewis

I’m trying to decide what kind of career path to take.Today I look for work, no luckTomorrow will be a better day.I want to give up. I must keepOn looking for work is not easyTo find in this day and timeTo find work in my career path.No one is hiring.I will not give up.If I have to do housekeepingThat is not my first choiceI would like to work with peopleThat sounds likeFun but there are not many jobs inThis type of work.I would really like to be a careWorker.

Family MealTara Lewis

My dinner is full of color with the sweets on the table full of sugar. But that’s OK for I love to see the kids get in the sweets, and then go home with their mothers. Oh my what a thing to see that is what I think about when, I think about family. Dinner, all the kids, the ones of yesterday and the ones of today. Here comes grandmother with another cake full of sugar, just the way we like it and the pie. What can I say for the sweets are on me like the kids in their holiday clothes.

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Este Hombre Iba A VisitarEva Ronquillo

Este hombre iba a visitara su esposa todos los días en la mañana yllevaba dulces y me saludar y meregalaba dulceshasta que un día se murió su esposay ella no vivó y traíadulces se sintiba. Se sentía triste.

This Man Lived To VisitEva Ronquillo

This man would come to visithis wife every day in the morning and he broughther sweets and he greeted me andgave me sweets until one day hiswife died and he no longer came and brought candies. He felt sad.

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My Morning At PresentShelton Bell

The most important thing on my mindThis morning is going to pick up my new glasses.My reading will improve immensely. The nextThing on my mind are my two appointmentsConcerning my disability case, which my attorneySet up for me yesterday. After doing this, I will beAble to proceed to my disability hearing. This is whatHas given this day an extra spark.

A nightmare is a bad dream that keeps coming back.Sometimes to the very point of a heart attack.They will throw your thoughts out of syncBringing you to the very brink.Sometimes you’ll awake to a pounding heartBut you have to regroup for a brand new start.

Glasses for EyesValerie Robinson

The windows to the heart and soulLong distance and up closeTo see the deep and superficial.Frames send a message about the wearerWhat image you want to convey.Lenses lines, no lines, bifocal, trifocalColors, light sensitive, reflective.Get whatever floats your boat.Get whatever blows your skirt up.Don’t get those heavy black prison glassesThat I hear people describe in disgust and condescension.

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Dinner GuestsValerie Robinson

All relatives, children, grandchildren, greats, great greats, and of course the extended family. Babies to new parents, all of us there. Turkey and all the long awaited trimmings. Real food, no boxed potatoes, or canned string beans. Fresh baked goods, from “screech” as we Yankees say.The only concession to canned good is Ocean Spray cran-berry sauce. For the courageous, I have homemade ginger-cranberry relish. Yum-yum.For one day, no fussing, grumbling, murmuring or grudges.All the recipes from all the elders were used and followed to the tee. Aunt Myrtles apple pie. My mother’s gingerbread with whipped cream.Red yellow for the couscous and plenty of hot tea and cof-fee.The family china, sterling silver flatware, and crystal glass-ware for the adults. The children’s table still gets plastic.Linen napkins and tablecloths, engraved sterling napkin rings and crystal place card holders. Emily Posh and my mother would be proud. My mother insisted that we sit a ta-ble for the president and her favorite, Elizabeth, the Queen of England.After all, she’d say, “if we don’t treat ourselves like royalty, anybody can treat us like dirt.”

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The Attic: Treasures and TroublesJuan Luna

Here in this room,Hangs pictures and memories,Of my past,Some of good times,Some of bad,They never seem to last.New beginnings turn to yesterdays,And the whole world forgets but me.Once you get lost,You’re never the same,I close my eyes and make a wish, and hope for better days.Cause tomorrows never seem to come,So I live for today,Here in this room,It’s everything I own.My windows shed some light,It also rains and snows,And the colors on my wall seem to change from time to time,It all depends on my state of mind.I keep the key close to me, so no one can just go in,Remember, with a heart,Everyone has a room deep down within.

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Valentine’s DinnerHannah Rush

It is a valentine’s dinner.With plenty of deep-fried food and chocolate,Heart smart salads on the side.Cathy and Heathcliff both are thereHaving realized it is the 21st century.They have both completed anger-managementRenounced co-dependency, and pour their passionsInto healthy things like career and charitableCauses and eating salads—practicing forgiveness.They do aerobics too, and wonder why theyAre together. Heloise has abandoned her habitAbelard reclaimed his member.They dance each moon danceBreathing each other in, barely movingGrateful for the other’s presence Paradise enough.

At The Restaurant With The FamilyMoises Muñoz

I was at a restaurant with my family and we were all talking about what we were going to order. And just when we were ready, the waitress came over and asked what we were going to have to drink. My parents order tea, my sister orders wa-ter and my brother orders coffee, well, I order tea also. Then the waitress asks if we are ready to order. My family said, yes. So we all order and when it came to the table it smells so good like something I never smell. Not just what I order, but what my brother, and my sister and also my parents or-dered. And when I look at my family, I saw the look on their faces that it was a good place to eat.

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Where Has All The Innocence Gone?Juan Luna

Where has all the innocence gone?Why is everyone for hire?This world can be so cold,Some parts with fire,All I see are bad times up ahead,Nobody wants to die,Just look at how you’re living,And I ask, why?It’s all for the taking,But who are the ones giving?Create a lie and try living in it,It’s all bullshit!You and everyone in it.Open your eyes and see for as far as you can,It’s all the same wasteland,Where have all the good times gone?Along with your dreams… far away,Take a look at yourself,Everyone needs a reason to pray,Don’t cry,Don’t say a word, Its all for nothing,It’s all been heard.Live like a king,Just to be called a fool,You work your whole life,Just so they can remind you that you can’t take it with you.

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NathanielHannah Rush

Your tiny go-where-you-goBottle of tabascoWas the clincher.I knew certainlyWe are soul matesWhen you took it out of your backpackAnd emptied it into your chowderThen smiled.I miss youEspecially sometimes,At high tide; aloneness and lossWhen at ebbI only wonder what you are doing and send you ShekinahLiquid lightTo hold and fill you soI won’t feel as scared or hurt as much.Memories like stillsFrom a cheesy movieAmazing Grace in a pink sunset,Eternal vows exchanged dumpster-side,The shockOf being lovedWithout qualificationOr pretense.

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CabezaLucilia Garcez

During the winter of 2002, my husband decided he was go-ing to make a “cabeza,” which is cow’s head for the people that don’t understand Spanish. We were all excited about what we were doing because neither of us had ever done that, had eaten it plenty of times, but never gone out and dug a hole in the ground and made it into an oven.As it turned out we had a big group of us, because did I for-get to mention we had a couple of cases of Bud Light to get us started?I never had known how much fun it was to do this with friends, all doing their parts. The head wrapped in sackcloth is wet and lowered to the bottom of the pit that had the em-bers and rocks on top. We covered it with a large piece of tin to make plenty of vapor.When we finished, it was probably about four or five in the morning. I can honestly say that I have never tasted bar-bacoa that delicious. Good thing the barbacoa got cooked, because we were all baked by that time. Good times.

A Poem Taped To The Wall By My BedWilliam FitzSimon

When things go wrong, as they usually will,And your daily roads seem all up hill,When the funds are low and the debts are high,And when you try to smile but can only cry,When you feel you’d like to quit,Don’t run to me,I don’t give a shit.

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Four HaikusWilliam FitzSimon

Haiku #1Here we sit, thinkingOn a log.Look at the water, now

Haiku #2Look over there, I seeA boat floatingBy the sunset.

Haiku #3The dance we sharedBy the night lights,I’m standing there.

Haiku #4Life is sweet and wonderful.Don’t sweat the small stuff.It’s all small stuff.

What is Home?Tifani Garcia

Home is family,No matter where you live,Home has been many different places,Lots of new faces,Moving around a lot,Stability sounds impossible,I hope to achieve it,Someday.

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Home Economics AssignmentTifani Garcia

To make my family a meal.They would grade me.I decided to make something my momShowed me to make.I made a full mealFrom a salad to porcupine meatballsMashed potatoes and gravyWe all drank iced tea.They all loved it.I got an A+.It was a good time.I won’t ever forget.

My Thought For The DayPeter Williams

I woke up, enjoyed a delicious breakfast, as the morning went by. I purchased me a pack of baby cigars, had a few smokes, then decided to buy me some tapes to record. I de-cided to record some Mexican music to relax me inside and outside of my body, and I felt like a walking dream to accom-plish something to do, it helps me think clearly, remember better, I also felt as I was walking, sleep as it was, and that was my thought for that day.

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UntitledPeter Williams

He felt as though he was satisfied, but she didn’t think he was. She feels emotions of discomfort, bored, etc., but deep down inside she feels confused ‘cause this happened all of a sudden, and she’s not sure this is what he wants with her in life, to relax and just be there.I would relax in comfort to have a woman love me this much. I’d feel like those moments when saying to myself, this is a dream. I always looked for nothing outside, inside of a home with a woman that really loves me. Good thing I’m the inside type, inside why she’s at work and out there, when she need me for protection towards the dudes she used to know or strangers, or just to be with her when outdoors. A life with a thrill.

Response to A LetterPeter Williams

Once I’m insideI enjoy him and his happiness,Being with me.Ahh, though the truck amazes meInside with the height and new sight.This high off the ground,It’s wonderful being with himCause this is what he likes in lifeMe inside of a high truck with him.

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Concerning a Good MealLarry Whitfield

Concerning a good meal, I revert back to Christmas, when I was young (around 12-years-old) We had just moved to Baytown, TX. Where most of my family lived. This particu-lar Christmas, everyone (aunts, uncles, cousins, etc.) came to my parents house for Christmas dinner. I remember this Christmas vividly because everyone was there, and it made me realize how large my family was. I had gotten a new bi-cycle for that Christmas, so it was particularly exciting. My aunts and mother were quite good cooks, in fact in Baytown and were actual chefs.

The range of food there was amazing; not only the basic tur-key and dressing, but seafood, sauces (homemade) and trim-mings, appetizers, etc. that you could imagine—the smell was like a sweet dream. Everyone was laughing and joking and having a marvelous time. Little did I know that this would be the last Christmas we would all be together—Everyone past that Christmas began to pass away—to the point where they are all passed away today. But there was that one magical Christmas, years ago.

Grateful ForTifani Garcia

My daughter and all the positive things in her life,My mother and all she does,Having a place to live,Having food to eat, Having clothes and shoes to wear.

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PrayerJudy Ann Caceres

10:3030 minutes to get thereOh, I won’t make itGetting upBlack jeans, red top, black heels, purse,Probably won’t find a place to park.Here it goesUp the stairsIt’s beautifulHoly waterSign of the crossI’m here.I didn’t wear makeup because all I doIs cry when I come here,You see.Kneeling.It’s me, Judy. Your homeless child.The one that hungers and thirst and asksTo be kept warm.The one that prays for the children,The homeless and the animals to beKept warm and fed.The one that asks for her daughter’sSafety.The one, no one wanted to feed.The one, no one wanted to clothe.The one, no one wanted to give water to.The one, no one wanted to help.The Crazy OneThe ArtistThe Mother, the Sister, the Daughter, the Friend.I seem to always need something from you.I guess it’s the Holy Spirit thatEngulfs me with tears.I know you’re here, I feel your presence.

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I need so much.There are so many people that need your help. Help them.As for me, I’m OK.I know you blessed me.Thank you for everything you have give and taken from me.Thank you for my daughter,That I love with all my heart.Thank you for the food and water,The Shelter, the blanket.My sanity.For listening when no one else would.Thank you for being my God.Sign of the crossLeaving,I guess it wasn’t that bad.

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WIC Faculty

Writer-in-ResidenceTrey Moore, a poet and fourth-generation carpenter, holds an M.F.A. in Creative Writing from Texas State University. He has traveled extensively (Alaska, Malaysia, Thailand and Laos) and has taught as a poet in public schools and juve-nile detention centers, as well as at Northwest Vista college in San Antonio, Texas. His work has appeared in the Texas Observer and a number of anthologies, including Is This For-ever or What? and Between Heaven and Texas. He has two books of poetry—We Forget We Are Water, and Some Will Play The Cello. A Spanish-speaking Texas native, arts activ-ist, and builder of community gardens, Trey’s poems investi-gate “our intimate, indivisible relationship to nature” from a city-dweller’s perspective.

IllustratorRobert Poschmann is a freelance artist who graduated from Our Lady of the Lake University in 2009 with a B.A. in Stu-dio Fine Arts. He currently works as an Arts Facilitator for San Antonio Youth Centers (SAYC) for grades K-8. His web-site is www.robertposchmann.com

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“Gemini Ink nurtures writers and readers and builds com-munity through literature and the related arts,” is our mis-sion. Our four programs serve an average of 5,000 patrons annually:

Writers in Communities (WIC) sends professional writers into diverse community settings to work alongside students of all ages, needs, interests, and abilities in free workshops based in oral traditions, reading, and creative writing.

The Autograph Series presents writers of national or inter-national stature — many of them recipients of major prizes such as the Pulitzer or National Book Award — in a free public performance and a ticketed colloquium luncheon the following day.

University Without Walls (UWW) offers three semesters of fee-based reading groups and workshops and also many free literary events, all led by professional writers, scholars, and interdisciplinary artists.

Dramatic Readers Theater (DRT) features professional ac-tors interpreting literary works in free performances, often accompanied by original music.

For more information, visit www.geminiink.orgor call 210-734-WORD (9673)

Toll-free: 877-734-WORD (9673)

not less than everything

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