Next year will be the twentieth anniversary of San Diego City Works Press. In the lead-up to this and the publication of Sunshine/Noir III: Writing from San Diego and Tijuana (in 2025), The Jumping-Off Place will be featuring some of the highlights from City Works Press’s many publications.
“Peeping Tom Tom Girl” is from Marisela Norte’s poetry collection of the same name.
Peeping Tom Tom Girl
I am a peeping tom tom girl
And from my seat on the downtown bus
I have been driven through
Been witness to
Invaded by
Las vidas de ellas
I’ve made myself up
To be the girl who sits in the back with the black mask
Over her eyes
The high school girl
Too anxious to experiment
La muchachita stuffed into the pink lampshade dress
Who listens
As her parents argue through different neighborhoods
Who shuts her eyes
And tries to memorize
The menus on the chalkboards outside
And then there is this woman
The widow with the gladiolus who never misses
A day of forgiveness
Who gladly lays her flowers down this woman
La viuda
Y la otra?
Esa?
She just sits and sits and counts todos los dias
En ingles y en Espanol
La mandarin al Diablo con su bolsa del mandado
Mujer de papel Corazon de carton
She sleeps in doorways
Hefty bag wardrobe
Broken tiara
And too much rouge
“…uno dos tres cuatro four hundred and twenty nine trece cero cero cero X dos..”
She is The Countess
Nuestra Senora
La Reina Perdida que cayo en Los
And then there is Silent
Who taught a friend of mine
How to flick her cigarettes out of a car window
And be sooooo bad in the process
Silent
Who spends a lot of time in the welfare office
Filling out those pink and blue forms
Can’t find a baby sitter
A good man
A job?
She smiles, blowing the smoke out of her nose
And sending the butt of her Marlboro out of the office window
And on to the Boulevard
She rides those buses I do
Balancing boxes of Pampers marked half price
And pulling two kids
A pink one and a blue one
Behind her on a string
“Just pull my little string and I’ll do anything…I’m your Puppet…”
15 years ago
Robert gave her that 45
They used to ride the Kern bus home
Make out in the drive way
Until they thought their lips would fall off
But they didn’t
Puppet, Passion, Pampers
What were those words in the middle?
And then there is Rosemary
Who is still in Junior College
And can’t decide between a career in Real Estate or dancing
She hangs out at the local hangouts
Fluttering her long lashes
And flashing her long legs
At some men’s eyes
And sometimes, older men buy her drinks
And make vague promises
“I’ll take good care of you.”
“I’ll drive you straight home.”
“Let me take care of that car payment.”
“I want to take you out to dinner.”
And almost always, they are old enough to be her Father
Or long lost Uncle
Silver haired
Loose tongued
Quick handed
Nit-witted men
Dangling electroplated lollipops in front of her eyes
And Rosemary says
“Sure, why not? I want someone to take care of me. Someone to make me his
Forever Mija, pay my bills, take me dancing, send me day-old roses…I don’t care.”
Her friend Rosary thinks she’s crazy
And doesn’t mind telling her so
They’ve been friends now for about ten years
Been through absent menstrual cycles, low-paying jobs, conceited men they both thought they’d never be able to live without
And everyone used to get them confused
Until Rosemary made the distinction in everyone’s Year Book
In red ink
Right below her hollow smile she scribbled
“Rosary beads Rosemary bleeds”
Bells ring
It is my cue to start walking
And I make all the cracks in the sidewalk
Like a lost tourist
I curse the crowds and can’t help wondering
Why so many of us
Are getting pregnant
Getting grey hair
And being lied to
I see the girls - Las chix
I follow them around
Become them for the afternoon
The light goes red
As two Donas discuss lipstick
“Fijate, que lo compre a medio precio!”
“No?”
“Si, y es de Revlon.”
Downtown Los
When I am alone
Dark eyed men speak to me
In languages
I don’t understand
A standing distraction
That blank man
In the Brooks Brothers suit
He smells like leather bound books
Our heads turn
It is a short ceremony
We spend long summers back East
Raising baby alligators
To him
I am a beautiful terrorist
An unsuccessful advance
Glancing Avenues
As lights go on and off inside me
Inside me it is all white heat
Sometimes
And the dark eyes
Are persistent
Insisting
I flirt black
Shrug my shoulders
I should be barefoot on some Italian Coast
Steamy
Smoldering
A burning girl
Redtoe nails
A devilish laugh
My long hair
Dark skin
His soul tangled in mine
Suddenly, I am beautiful
Too beautiful for my own good
But this dream
Dies fast
As I am pushed aside
By an angry woman
Carrying too many packages
And an unwanted child
In her swollen belly
Suddenly
I am back
Sick
Weak
I haven’t written in days
Guilt ridden
Not half a woman
I want out of my own skin
I can’t stand the stupid image
The imperfect body
The pink sponge rollers
Never been to Europe
Only half a million films
“Uno dos tres cuatro trece trece cero cero cero X dos Xdos Xdos U2?”
“May I take you out to dinner?…..cloth napkins”
“Ay Dios ruega por nosotros, ruega por nos, por Los…”
Entonces
Le daremos fin
A esta pesadilla
Donde muchos solo somos
Actors sin papeles