Zoe Dorado
Zoe Dorado, hailing from Castro Valley, CA, is a 16-year-old spoken word poet and musician. Having played the drums for over eight years — exploring jazz, funk, and Afro-Cuban styles — she is interested in how rhythm and meter unfold themselves into poetry and the way storytelling integrates itself into different art forms. She is part of the Bayanihan Youth Group of Filipino Advocates for Justice, SPOKES — the youth advisory board of Youth Speaks, and is the 2021 Inaugural Youth Poet Laureate of Alameda County. As a poet, she has collaborated with the SEIU-UHW, creating poetry for healthcare workers; led poetry workshops for youth at the Filipinx Bay Area Cooperative Sama Sama; and has performed in San Francisco’s City Hall to her Lola’s kitchen. Her most recent work can be found in Brenda Art Magazine as well as in the Bigger Picture Project’s “Survival Pending Revolution” campaign — a poetry film collaboration between Youth Speaks and the UCSF Center for Vulnerable Populations advocating for vaccination in the fight against COVID-19, as well as the structural violence that allows this virus to disproportionately impact Filipino nurses like her mom and the health of our communities. As a Filipina-American, Zoe is excited to learn more about literature and music beyond the canon.
Poem on Belonging
IN A PARALLEL
After a conversation with Dad where he tells me why he never learned Tagalog. Maybe I imagined it before it happened Through the car ride back home Homebody who traces the map back to wherever it came from As in I left this place but here I am In the backseat On a banka resting in some ocean On the back of a tongue forgetting itself An itch that is given to you Because how else to teach the kid You only have one in your mouth What we spill is the shadow: I don’t call him Tatay, just Dad Remember though — the tension What’s needed to make a taut lineage A rope to weave through a bloodline Thick enough to call itself here Thin enough to apologize and say thank you As in I name myself an undoing A mathematical proof Instinctive like I am getting inside the car to reach something familiar The humming of a radio from another country Remembered only because we keep trying to mimic its movement How waves can be more than just water This string accelerated through the air by a hand Not mine I don’t know which country I am referring to We are both becoming the spectacle stared at A funhouse, really A mirror doesn’t have to be poetic I’m only looking out of habit Dad in the front seat I am just the passenger The third object is not the road Not thinking about the time it took us to get here I am moving through this mythos The body remembers Because we’ve driven home before. Though sometimes, a child pretends to be asleep I just want to be held Though the driver does too, I think As in I’m sorry I keep you awake But how else can I get you to not look away You know how this goes Because we’ve driven home before The body remembers I am moving through this mythos Not thinking about the time it took us to get here The third object is not the road I am just the passenger Dad in the front seat I’m only looking at you out of habit A mirror doesn’t have to be poetic A funhouse Really, we are both becoming the spectacle stared at I don’t know which country I am referring to Not mine This string accelerated through the air by a hand How waves can be more than just water Remembered only because we keep trying to mimic its movement The humming of a radio from another country I am getting inside the car to reach something familiar Instinctive like A mathematical proof As in I name myself an undoing Thin enough to apologize and say thank you But thick enough to call itself here A rope to weave through a bloodline What’s needed to make a taut lineage Remember though — the tension I don’t call him Tatay, just Dad What we spill is the shadow: You only have one in your mouth Because how else to teach the kid The itch that is given to you On the back of a tongue forgetting itself On a banka resting in some ocean In the backseat As in I left this place but here I am Homebody who traces the map back to wherever it came from Through the car ride back home Maybe you imagined it before it happened
Copyright © 2022 by Zoe Dorado. Used with permission of the author.
Speak Poetry in San Mateo County 