Poetry Connection: Ekphrastic Poetry, La Super-Rica, and the Repair Cafe SB

 

 

Melinda Palacio

Poetry reminds us of what we hold dear. It’s both a way to share our collective joy and grief. When our current Poet Laureate, George Yatchisin, asked me to contribute an ekphrastic poem to the Fare Trade Exhibit at City Hall, I chose Patricia Clarke’s photograph, “La Super- Rica.” The Fare Trade exhibit was impressive on many levels. The addition of the Papel Picado hanging from the ceiling already said Fiesta and draws the eye to the corridor in City Hall where people usually go to when they need to pay a bill or find an important legal document. The art on the walls was photography by Brett Leigh Dicks and Patricia Clarke, all featuring photographs of taquerias and diners. I chose Clarke’s La Super-Rica because it was the first eatery I went to upon arriving in Santa Barbara twenty-five years ago, an initiation for most newcomers. When I sat down to respond to the photograph and compose my ekphrastic poem, I Renee Good on my mind. ICE looms large in my everyday thoughts. As a participant and fellow listener, I enjoyed the variety of poems inspired by the exhibit and the standing room only crowd.

The next day’s Repair Cafe provided another soothing balm and chance to bond with the community; there’s was even free on-demand poetry by Simon Kieffer. I participated in my capacity as a musician on guitar and ukulele with the Ladies’ Strumming Social Club who provided some entertainment. The Repair Cafe is not a restaurant that serves food. It’s a community movement and popup at the CEC’s Environmental Hub on 1219 State Street, suite A. The donated space at the CEC’s Environmental Hub is a perfect fit. The space is large enough for volunteers to bring in repair tools with the comfortable feel of meeting in a neighbor’s home. The bimonthly event is powered by volunteers who help keep things out of the landfill by repairing broken items, everything from knife sharpening to bicycle, electrical, and sewing repairs.

I wasn’t too surprised to see my friend Lora Martin at one of the tables, fixing things with her sewing machine. Lora knows her way around a sewing machine and is more than happy to volunteer and share her skills. “I wanted to help and support our community and I believe in the Repair Cafe’s mission,” she said. “We throw too many things away.” Lora found out about the Repair Cafe through social media and sent an email to offer her services. She was able to fix my torn canvas tote bag. I saw a few friends who also needed sewing repairs. Fellow poet Monica Mody had a garment mended that her mother had gifted her.

Empowerment and education is another component of the Repair Cafe. In some cases, volunteers can teach people how to make their own future repairs. The next repair cafe will be at the Environmental Hub on March 21 from 10 to 1pm, . If you have a skill or knack at fixing things, the all volunteer movement known as the Repair Cafe could use more volunteers, contact info@repaircafesb.

Canopy Over Milpas and Alphonse

Melinda Palacio

The friend I invited to lunch declined, not for fear of ICE.

She is not worried for herself, but for me.

‘Can’t make it, watch out for ICE,’ she said, fancying herself funny.

I go along with the joke as nothing will keep me

from stopping by the restaurant that’s easily overlooked

with an empty dirt lot next to it, low ceiling.

Thick roots give rise to spindly branches and a lush.

top heavy Laurel Fig, an outstretched canopy over the world.

I tell my friend I have a strategy for defeating ICE.

Say I will expose how much of a good citizen I am

by rattling off the names of all the state capitals, an old party trick.

ICE fools can’t name all the states, let alone their capitals.

Can words like Tallahassee, Phoenix, or Annapolis save me

from cruelty, from disappearing citizen me?

They know, we all know, that when they come for my brown skin,

but end up killing a white women, a mother, a poet, a kind woman,

an ally who never expected to take three bullets in the face for me,

for all of us, their souls are lost.

People in line, hoping to receive the last Alambre de Pechuga are absent.

Beneath a blue sky, houses in the distant ridge, the neighborhood terrorized

by ICE is a community of families, firefighters, shopkeepers, caregivers, cooks,

bookeepers, servers, mechanics, dishwashers, doctors, musicians, and educators,

nestled around the Milpas landmark, known as la Super Rica.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*an earlier version of this column was published in the Santa Barbara Independent