This is Sidewalk Stories, a collaboration between Crosscurrents and the East Bay’s Street Spirit newspaper where we hear from unhoused people about how they survive and build a life outside.
Sometimes “survival” looks like maintaining an identity outside of homelessness, whether that’s a paid job, a network of friends and family members, or cultivating a creative practice. Poetry in particular is a powerful tool for bridging connection, celebrating our common threads, and for listening to one another.
In celebration of Pride month, this segment of Sidewalk Stories features the work of two queer, unhoused poets who were recently published in Street Spirit.
"Surviving the Storm,” by Reina de Aztlán
One cannot do this on their own.
Don’t take her word for it, try it yourself.
Jump on a sailboat on a stormy day and feel it for yourselves.
Waves of salty water full of sounds
rumbling are all I hear.
Prayers to our Gods to gift my people
with mercy were endless.
Grown men with rosaries dangling
off their necks stare and laugh
Necks taste like the ocean
She kneels for her Gods
Not for men
She kneels for another being
He moves like water
She with her mind
He with his body
“Erase Us,” By Freeway
The lines in his face match the lines the cracks in the street,
It’s easy to be skinny when you can’t afford to eat.
It’s the price you pay for freedom,
Living life without the lie.
It’s the cost of no more shackles
Life’s a bitch and then you die.
But for those on the sidewalk that death comes a little sooner
Bet you don’t know that though, do ya?
How the yearly death rate of those without homes,
Is exponentially higher than sums,
Of their housed counter parts,
It’s easy to fall apart, when your average day starts with
A notice to leave your home,
But no one can tell you where to go.
No one cares about that though,
they just want you to fucking go,
But nobody has a real solution,
So now this is the revolution.
House keys not handcuffs,
Compassion not hate.
We’re tired of eatin your table scraps,
We want the motherfuckin steak!
All we get is lip service,
And empty promises,
What we demand is dignity
Keep your fuckin apology!
We’re not fuckin animals, we’re human beings too…
Nothing but a paycheck separates me from you.
The pigs are now back to take our tents,
1.6 million in yearly fuckin overtime spent,
So they can lie to the media, keep the upper class content.
The real cost?
The lives lost.
People’s homes ain’t work zones.
When human life holds meaning no more,
When you call 311 instead of feeding the poor,
When money’s your god, but you skippin confession
Your soul is for sale and we in a repression
You You’ve lost touch with humanity
Your home is your depression
Your love language is indifferences indifference
Use poverty as a weapon.
You demonize the poor,
While you steal precious years off lives,
You spread mis myth-information, feed media lies.
You spend all your time and energy just trying to defeat us,
You think you’re better than us but you’re really just beneath us.
You can try with all your money to get everyone to hate us,
But the one thing that you can’t …is erase us.
