By Ishmael von Heidrick-Barnes
FROM A CITY CALLED SAN DIEGO
I was here
before anyone called me San Diego
Before Cabrillo
named me San Miguel
and declared me a Spanish possession
Before the Kumeyaay and Yuman
found sustenance
along my mountains and shores
Have you heard me
hum
underneath the hushed rustle
of snaking freeways?
Will you take the next off ramp?
Stop
Long enough to let bare feet
take root in undeveloped soil
when many seeds are lifted by wind
only to be left on sand?
Will you take time
away from sprawl?
Will you find your blue face
in my green ocean?
Or will you ignore the color of my voice
and become another set of footprints
that rushed out to sea?