Powdered or Soy Milk?

I’m sitting at Panaderia La Monarca,

in Boyle Heights. 

Chicanos invited me here. 

In particular, a Chicana professor,

teaching in upstate  New York.

She’s on winter break,

visiting her family

that has always lived in this neighborhood. 

I scope the place out. 

Owned by raza. 

Raza behind the counters. 

Excellent service, I must say. 

Fancy bakery, serving fancy coffee,

and the best pan dulce I’ve ever had.

The joint raises a question mark about

how it is part of the gentrification going on

in Boyle Heights. 

Unlike the coffee shop in Highland Park,

where I live, there are actually a lot of older,

immigrant Latinos buying here. 

I’m thinking of all of this when an abuelito approaches me.

-¿Me abres esto?

Brown, weathered hands,

hand me a snack-sized ziploc bag of beige powder.

-¡Claro que sí!

-Aquí no tienen leche en polvo. Traigo esto de mi casa, todos los días.

Well, that’s a good sign!  A local grandpa

buys here everyday,

and brings his powdered milk

to make his coffee. 

A young latina, pierced nose,

Joan Jet look alike,

black leather jacket,

reaches around me and the grandpa,

and grabs the soy milk carafe.

There we are.

The three of us. 

Him with his powdered milk.

Me and my half and half.

And her and her soy milk. 

Un encuentro de generaciones,

at a fancy coffee shop,

in Boyle Heights.