Mary Ocaña. Maywood

1.8 miles

In a 1.8-mile block, I was born.

The hospital where I cried for the first time is now a Smart & Final,
The scent of chemicals just a few blocks away, broken sidewalks, “above average”
crime rates.
 

And although my lungs are filled with traces of a compound unknown, and with danger
always nearby,
I smile.

​

I smile because this is where I was born, this is where I find comfort,
Hearing the honking of the Elotero Man’s horn, and running out to buy a 1 dollar
raspado, and corn.

It is a place filled with memories of late-night Winchell’s doughnuts and hot chocolate
while I waited for clothes to dry with my dad - the TV flickering.
It is a place where Primo Burger’s burritos and horchata were my most sought after, but which’s taste has long been lost to time.
It is the place where I discovered architecture and design, through the sprinkled art
deco buildings in the city - one of which is my favourite.

It’s the riverbed and bike rides with my dad,
It’s the long walks to Food-4-Less with my mom,
It’s the street fair where I enjoyed laughter and churros with friends,
It’s the music shop where I bought my first CD, and enjoyed a slice of strawberry cake,
It’s the John’s Bargains ice cream selection.

It is all the places in my memory that no longer exist in the city as they once did, and yet
they exist here in memories.

In a 1.8-mile block, there lies so much meaning, to me.