It’s a bit belated, but on April 21, I was officially inaugurated as the city of Hayward’s third Poet Laureate. It’s an incredible honor, least of all because I know how much talent exists in our city, and I’m excited to roll my sleeves up and help promote the literary arts over the next two years.
Hayward is often overlooked: though we’re the third-largest city in Alameda County, many only know us as a freeway stop on the way to Oakland or San Francisco (it doesn’t help that the 880, 238, and 92 all go through us). But as somebody who’s lived here for 8 years, I’ve fallen in love with this place. We’re a young and growing city: 1 of 3 residents are students, from kindergarten all the way to graduate school. We’re a remarkably diverse city, the kind of place where you can find a sushi spot, a family-owned pho joint and a phenomenal paleteria all in the same parking lot. And above all, we’re a community where folks show up and turn up, whether it’s for the South Hayward Markets or the Cinco de Mayo celebrations. Hayward is a part of me now, and I feel so lucky I now get to be a small part of Hayward, too.
I’d like to share my inaugural speech and poem, which celebrates Hayward’s 150th anniversary, with you. (You can also watch it HERE!)
Thank you to the council, but thank you most of all to the people of Hayward.
I have spent most of my life trying to figure out what home looks like. I grew up holding a collection of contradictions: I was a pastor’s son who also happened to be gay, a happy-go-lucky kid quietly struggling with depression, and a survivor of abuse who didn’t speak up—because I knew my parents had been victims, too. When I discovered poetry at the age of 17, I also discovered my voice: the secrets I was ashamed of for so long became the experiences that made me brave enough to speak up for myself and for others. I’ve learned that none of us enter this world fully-formed – we are each a collection of broken puzzle pieces that don’t quite match. But telling my story, even when it scares me, is how I have learned to give my life shape.
When I moved to Hayward in 2018, the same year I graduated from college, I didn’t know it would save me. This city is the place I began my teaching career—and saw firsthand the power that young people’s voices could have. It is where I matured from a scared, unconfident twenty-something into a more responsible (and slightly more confident) thirty-something. It’s where I met the man who is now my husband and finally came out to my family. And now, eight years later, it’s where I’ve laid down my roots. I step into the role of Poet Laureate with humility and gratitude – that I now get to be a small part of what makes Hayward so special. And I hope that over the next two years, I get to help honor and uplift the wealth of stories and voices in our city.
Tonight, I’d like to share a poem to celebrate our city — and everybody who makes this place the heart of the Bay. This is “Ode to Stray Cats.”
This poem goes out
Who saw gold in the dirt
Hitched your future to a boat
Clawed through endless earth
Looking for a nugget of hope in a haystack
I see you now: your paws bloodied but your eyes full of fight
You pitched your tent on a rich man’s land
Traded him a pair of boots for 40 acres
Then hustled a hotel from the ground up
Built a sanctuary for strays, open to every dreamer
Willing to scrap for a new life
Who treated every passer-by like family
Took the word “hotel” and spun it into “home”
Your litter ever-growing, though you lost a few on the way:
Your husband, then your niece, then your son
Still you mothered this city through loss, long after it outgrew you
Even now, a century later
I hear your laugh in every bar on this block
The girl who grew carnations from concrete
When your government put you and your people in cages
Treated you like an alien species to be weeded out
You planted yourself in places nobody expected
Joined every city council, every housing committee
Gardened a movement to ensure nobody would endure what you did
Taught us that when strays move together
We become a pack
You schooled us all on the value of an education
Led the hunt by example – taught us to
Pounce on every opportunity for knowledge
Leap into leadership without asking for permission
Scratch on doors that weren’t open yet
So our children could walk through them someday
Your legacy looms so large
It would take an entire campus to hold it
And to the Russell City alley cats
Howling the blues from your side of Hesperian and Winton
Your tune an ensemble performance; a counter-melody to exclusion
When they deprived you of water and electricity
You fired back with gas – blew that trumpet so loud they couldn’t ignore you
They paved over your homes, turned them to industrial parks
But they could never pave over your legacy
Decades later, I still hear your harmony through the gravel
A song for justice generations in the making
And to Oscar the churro man
Serving up deep-fried wisdom every morning
From your corner on Mission Boulevard
And to the 6th graders in matching black puffer jackets
Terrorizing B Street on your bikes
Keeping commuters on their toes – show ‘em who runs these roads
And to the high school girls holding hands on the 28 bus
Your fingers woven into a shared promise
To live openly as yourselves
To love each other
Without compromise or apology
And to Ms. Encinas, the best lunch lady I know
The kind of person
Who always makes sure every kid in line grabs a banana
Who offers you a ride home before you ask
Whose laughter could light the darkest room
And to my neighbor two houses down
I pass you every night, watching you feed
Every abandoned pet passing through
Your yard a haven for
Every living being who needs one
And to the stray cats of Hayward
Who have completely overrun our streets and our hearts
You clamber over our fences
Sprawl across our sidewalks
Squat on the hoods of our cars
I turn the headlights on
I stare at you through my windshield
And my entire city stares back
I see us now: our scruff, our scratches, our battle scars
Some say we’re a little rough-around-the-edges but
They don’t know us: our scrap, our grit, our heart
They don’t know that when you’re here, you’re home
And if you stay a little longer, look a little closer,
Past the filth caking our claws
I guarantee you’ll see
Gold
Under the dirt
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