Julian Copado
We Used to be Kings

16 years ago we were all kings.
Conquering corner store daydreams
and ice cream trucks.

Before tag became a bloodsport,
before hopscotch meant avoiding-
stepping over chalk outlines of
those who became hieroglyphs-
before we became good at reading
hieroglyphs, we were all innocent.

We learned how to clutch onto it,
grip it with greasy fingers
after eating las quesadillas de mi madre
as if to never let go.

Although our neighborhood was the type
of place where cliques and kodak moments
never clicked together, we still knew how
to smile, find our happiness in an ugly place,
pose for a picture worth a thousand platinum
hip hop records….

because we knew we could be gone
the next snapshot; become as disposable as
the camera that shot our smiles one by one,
Become as disposable as the camera that
framed our picture at a high-end art gallery
without knowing we were royalty.

Every person, every face, every place
was a postcard, pitch perfectly screaming-
Wish you make it out.

My parents still hold stacks of stamps,
with dried out tongues and sore arms
of gently putting postcards under my pillow
trying to not disturb the only time I didn’t
have to live in a ghetto.

Postcards of six little kings, claiming our
kingdom on the top of South Hill drive.
But there were too many conquistadores
trying to reclaim our kingdom.
Too many blue bonnets and red roses
being handed out in exchange for early spring funerals.

Every year after,
the gardens didn’t bloom as much.
The bouquets of chrysanthemums and lilies
couldn’t hold together much longer.
Our picture frames got smaller.
The coffins grew larger.
Our numbers decreased, as we kept dying;
Our memories deceased, as our mothers
kept crying.
Our fathers defeated from building our
coffins.

The photographer couldn’t sell out anymore,
she said Sunday funerals didn’t make
good business.
But every year after,
I still posed.
I still smiled.
I managed to follow my happiness
out of an ugly place.

But most importantly, I still go back.
Hoping to still find our innocence.
Hoping to find my friends and pose
for a better tomorrow--
but I don’t know where
most of them are now a day or
how many have passed away.