Annie

At the Wave Organ
The Marina
Thursday afternoon

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I feel like I belong to this city because I know how the streets are connected through bus lines and stories, overheard conversations and intersections. I always try to remember distinct neighborhood landmarks and colors, and there are memories everywhere.

I love San Francisco, with its the quiet moments.  When the morning fog shrouds houses and later on the sky is scraped clear. Suddenly, everything is so bright and alive. I like going into bookstores and staying there for hours. Smelling fragrant jasmine growing in thick bushes and looking at street art. A homeless man sits at the corner near Van Ness and Market and says, “Have a good day” to those who pass by. I say hello to him and smile.

I love being in the Botanical Gardens and getting lost in this wonderland of a park, feeding the squirrels even if I’m not supposed to. I remember walking through alleyways of Chinatown, hearing the crackle of mahjong tiles when the afternoon is blending into nighttime. When I was seven I was in the Chinese New Year parade. I remember wearing ballet shoes while walking on the brick road of Commercial Street.  I love the combination of faded turquoise and red.

It’s the small things, really. When I was little, I remember going to a playground in the Richmond. My sister and I climbed, slid and ran around the sand during many afternoons.  One afternoon we were there, it turned out that there were swans wandering around. I think they were as tall, maybe taller than I was and I wanted to touch one.  I don’t remember if I did, but the memory stayed with me.

San Francisco is magical. I think there are places in the city where it feels like it’s just for me. Being an artist and a writer, it can be a rather solitary thing. I don’t mind being by myself. I like walking around the city and finding places to be inspired by, it can be the bright colors of the trolleys, the ornate typeface of a sign, and a shop window with a giant birdcage. I look at the colors of nail polish lined on the windows of nail salons and buy fragile paper from a bookstore in Chinatown.

Recently, I spent an afternoon at the Wave Organ, a secret place tucked away at the edge of the city, where the water hits at the rocks. The Wave Organ is a sculpture made of cemetery gravestones and pipes. If you listen carefully, you’ll hear sea songs, sometimes it’s really subtle. It’s like listening to a giant seashell. I sit there, feeling like I am so far away from everything else and sailboats will come around, with the Golden Gate bridge in the distance. The trek is worth it.

I discovered the Wave Organ when a librarian told me about it and I thought it would be a great place to write. I’ve been writing poetry since I was thirteen. I’ve found myself amongst a community of writers, through a program called WritersCorps that teaches youth creative writing in schools, community centers and juvenile lock up facilities. I am proud to have several WritersCorps teachers as my mentors. This year, my fellow youth poets and I embarked on writing a book called City of Stairways: A Poet’s Field Guide to San Francisco. The best thing about being a part of this project was exploring the different neighborhoods and appreciating each one for it’s own distinct personality. City of Stairways is part poetry anthology, part travel guide to San Francisco. The book is full color with maps, art and places that both tourists and locals will appreciate. What I discovered while writing my poems is that living in this city is about finding new places to explore and rediscovering the ones you remember with a fresh eye.

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You can see a slideshow of Annie’s photo shoot here.

Annie’s links:

etsy shop: http://curbsidetreasure.etsy.com
blog: http://curbside-treasure.blogspot.com
find more about City of Stairways: A Poet’s Guide to San Francisco