There’s an orange tree in my front yard
I lived a life of warm and fuzzies
To touch this life of cold and hard
Migrating west to things I’ve never felt
Watching blistered hands play the cards they
were dealt
Thin polluted air never tasted so good
Sirens orchestrate bed time ballads in this hood
I come from heated floors and cherry oak trim
And now my cup isn’t filled even close to the brim
But that’s okay!
I asked for this; rolled tobacco cigarettes and
free words to spit
Desert cold nights with one blanket to spare
My proud parents would be appalled at the
simple life I live here
But I’m a poor wealthy soul!
We all may be immigrants, but this life takes
its toll
So that I’m filled with free will and an unconditioned
Sharing these spiraling pipes with people of
all kinds
Things, entrepreneurs, taggers, and students
Sitting in circles, ahhing and ohhing
Looking at life in a way you couldn’t see
Till’ you’re sitting in the shade of a grand
orange tree.

Boyle Heights Beat

Boyle Heights Beat is a bilingual community newspaper produced by its youth "por y para la comunidad". The newspaper and its sister website serve an immigrant neighborhood in East Los Angeles of just under...

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published.