Jose Hernandez Diaz

Ode to the Public Library

I found you when I was lost in life
Not sure what I wanted to do for a living

Who would employ a lost writer
Who hadn’t published anywhere?

The poetry section eventually called 

My name finally read writers who looked

Like me Brown like me Spanish names
Like mine maybe I could write a book, too?

The library was a good way to avoid
Heat waves or the five gangs in the neighborhood

A good way to explore and imagine instead
Of always thinking about money, debt and bills

Even thought of studying library science at one point
Now, there are two of my own books

In library shelves throughout the country
And even the world I couldn’t be prouder

Thinking someone might find themselves
Reading my books at a public library

All for free with a simple plastic card

Ode to Rage Against the Machine

Thanks for introducing me to poetry
At a young age I remember rocking out

To you in my room during high school years
Your rebellious lyrics really made me

Question authority and encouraged me
To think critically about capitalism, colonialism, racism

I remember reading your lyrics in my room
Trying to write my own songs and poems

Trying to mimic Zach's vibrant voice, vision
Yes, the poems were kind of knock offs

But you showed me Latino artists do exist
Local artists do exist when I was in undergrad

I went to Coachella to see you reunite
It was the only time I saw you in person

Because tickets were always out of my budget
Now that y'all have been broken up for good

I no longer crave a reunion tour like when I was younger
I understand, now, people move on to new phases

But I’ll always appreciate your work 

As an entryway to art, poetry, activism, for me 

And others like me always will remember 

The way y’all made me feel: seen, empowered

Origin Story of a Poet

Mom reading to me as a child in English and Spanish 

as best she could. It never bothered her 

that she was an immigrant and wasn’t fully fluent.

Or at least she didn’t show if it bothered her. 

Mom taking my siblings, friends and I, to the public library 

in her beat-up Chevy. When my older sister 

who was also an English major gifted me

signed copies of Gary Soto’s books for my birthday. 

Who was this Chicano author with an English name? 

Gary Soto? Sounds distinguished. When my Junior-year 

English teacher told me I was a writer after reading 

my in-class essay, even though I was getting C’s and D’s. 

When she told me I could be anything I wanted. 

The next year when my Senior-year English teacher 

stapled my essays to the classroom wall. My first publications.

When she told me I could write for Time Magazine if I worked at it.

When I saw injustice on the news and in the streets, 

And it made me want to speak out. When I saw iconic writers 

craft strange worlds and it made me want to similarly escape.

When I went to the public library and checked out 

as many contemporary poetry books I could carry home.

When I picked up a pen after hours of incessant reading, 

and noticed the poems just flowed out of me.