writer. singer/songwriter. techie geek. princess of random.

I found this on a piece of my church Meetinghouse while cleaning my desk.  I think it must have been the only paper I had on hand at the time I was inspired.  I write like that sometimes – on scraps of paper that I forget to keep.  This one is about a homeless person I saw sleeping in L.A.

Sleep Same
by Charity C. Tran

He sleeps like me
curled like a cat
would by a hearth,
into a ball
sleeping soundly.

He sleeps like me
hand tucked
against the thigh
head turned down
sleeping soundly.

He sleeps like me,
but not as I do -
in my warm bed
of gold and purple
and red
of pillows and blanketed layers,
in a room
in a house
while the sounds
of late night TV
lull as a soundtrack
to my life.

His bed is the black -
His bed is the tile floor -
A half block down
Outside my door.

He does not sleep like me.

To Bobby Who Lives On
By Charity C. Tran

I see you now in headlines
“L.A. School Official”
but when you shift from their
front page to archive
you’ll still be in our headlines
etched in the articles of our lives

you were writing
your dissertation
too many chapters left
of your own to write
of your life to compose

but before your pen
left your hand
its ink had left its mark
composing symphony
in the articles of our lives

you persevered the odds
determined
that others could do the same
you did so with laughter
achieving a quiet kind of fame

I see you now in my headlines
in the memory of you in my life
my friend, my mentor
in your stead I will persevere
in my life and so many others
you live on

My friend Bobby Salcedo died under senseless circumstances on December 31st, 2009 (see LA Times).  He was my mentor first – my economics and government teacher in high school.  After I graduated, I joined the Sister Cities Association of my home town due in part to Bobby’s recruitment efforst.  My mentor became a friend and because of Sister Cities, in many ways he was like family.  Before his passing, I was editing his dissertation – he was going to be the first person in his family to achieve a doctorate.  Given the above, there were just too many memories to write down and every time I tried it just didn’t seem to be enough.  To me, poetry always seems to convey feeling in its brevity of words.  So I wrote the poem because I know that he lived life to the fullest – as an educator, civic leader,  friend, mentor,  sibling,  son, husband – and although it was so tragically taken away, he lives on in all of us.

-cct