Editors Note
The escalation of ICE raids that began in Los Ángeles in June, has sent a chill across Greater Los Ángeles. They’ve caused our vibrant Latinx communities to go silent, their/our streets, at times, eerily empty. They’ve caused us and the people we love—friends, family and neighbors—to fear for our/their lives. And for others to protest in furious anger.
The ICE raids fundamentally attack who we are—our acceptance of different identities, languages and lifestyles; our love for what our mix of cultures create separately and together; our beliefs in the way we understand and pursue social justice–that’s affected us all.
The literary community is no different. The Latinx East Los Soul open mic in Boyle Heights went silent in June out of fear of endangering its community and continues to be on indefinite hiatus. And it’s hit the literary community even closer to home, affecting the family of L.Á. native, Founder and Executive Director of the LA Poet Society, Jessica Wilson.
What follows below is Jessica Wilson’s personal account of how the ICE raids have turned her life upside down and ripped her family from the country of her birth.
I’m not sure how to tell this.
A lot of times I feel like an imposter in my own skin. I feel like an imposter to theories and assumptions others may have about me or my life. One thing is certain and that is that I always have heart. It almost seems like an uncontrollable urge to give and also omit, just love, care, and support. I later learned about the term “empath” from my friend, author, Doren Damico, and I soon realized that was exactly what I am and what I do. I live by my heart; a lot of the times it’s run me into dead ends, but then again, I wouldn’t have known the love I have experienced.
I am infinitely in love with my husband and partner, Juan Cárdenas. He’s an incredible person to witness. Ever since I met him, he was always living authentically, freely, with joy and a smile. This love and positivity exuded from him through every note from his flute and in every movement of his fingers, as he wrote down his poetry.
It all started with music, a love for a band born out of Los Ángeles, like our love story. We love The Doors. We love the poetry of Jim Morrison, the lyrics, the meaningful depth of their messages. The transformative power of thinking beyond the moment. Juan is unconditional love. I love him so much. I was so blessed to meet him and for him to actually love me and want to try to make a relationship happen.
When I first met him, I had been coming out of a relationship that was a Band-Aid to a seriously heartbreaking event in my life; when my then partner took his life. Having survived a loved one dying by suicide, I had other transitions to go through. I was with someone who, like a Band-Aid, offered me an emotional shelter—a safe space that protected me while I healed. I found that during the time between losing someone and finding my bandage relationship, I let myself get torn into shreds by so many others. However, that safe relationship I was in wasn’t one of love and passion, or of similar interests.
A phrase I recall from him was: “oh, are you working on your Poetry nonsense?”
Anyway, this isn’t about that anymore.
I remember meeting Juan on May 1, 2013, at the premiere of Writer Wednesdays at Bob’s Espresso Bar in the North Hollywood Arts District. We both enjoyed an incredible inaugural event. He shook my hand and held it extra seconds. I pulled it away and I invited him to write down his email or information on the Los Angeles Poet Society mailing list to stay connected. He asked me for my phone number and I said, “I don’t do numbers.”
Since he knew I was a Doors fan, (we both happened to have on Doors gears that night), he asked me to join him on the sidewalk in front of Bob’s, and he sang Indian Summer, playing it on the guitar. It was a generous moment, as he sang just to me. He looked up at me as he sang, with a small dimple peering from his cheek. I remember thinking to myself, I can’t believe he’s doing this. The truth is, another person had sung that song to me before, and it left me with a lot of tender thoughts. It was a huge trip to have someone enjoy and play your favorite song, like a lullaby that only you understand.
The next time I saw Juan, it was for a guitar lesson and he was the instructor. An instructor that didn’t bring his guitar. He tried drawing a picture of a guitar and its strings on paper—and teaching me how to do the notes. It did not work at all and was a complete waste of time. But yeah, apparently that’s just how it all unfolded. He says he meant to bring the guitar. Do you believe him?
I remember the beautiful handmade bouquet he brought to the lesson. He had wildflowers in his hand—beautiful, fragrant, delicate—like lace on a gown that you love to wear—comfortable, classic, caressing, capable. I loved it. Juan’s love is a romance I’ve never had before. I felt so beautiful with him. It didn’t take long for me to shift and to rip off that band-aid and embrace JUAN.
One of the most beautiful things he ever told me, that always remains in my memory, was when I was reluctant to start a relationship with him. It all felt so right, and I was finally with another person who appreciated my art, my poetry craft, my words. It was so incredible, but it was a hard transition for me moving from relationship to relationship, and he said, “I’m just trying to love you girl.” Not only did that sound so cool, but I felt like—wow—such a simple and meaningful way to express what someone’s intentions are. It’s like I heard him out loud, digesting his words…Is this guy trying to really just love me? And then thinking if I deserve it—do I deserve love? I’ve always wanted love, so I was like if I walk away, I’m gonna walk away from love. Juan was able to make things clear.
I’m so happy I decided to let him love me. February 8, 2014, we got married at Beyond Baroque Literary Arts Center.
Juan should still be with me in America.
We had an incredible Bohemian wedding at a literary space that was very special to our lives and to the significance it had bringing it all together with our love for the Doors; getting married in Venice, CA—the birthplace of The Doors. Also, the home to the Venice West Beat Poets. Being a 3rd generation Beatnik, I felt honored to be on the same grounds where the Bohemian spirit of art and expression has always lived and thrived.
Being at Beyond Baroque was so significant as a Poet because I would always recall being there with S.A. Griffin, Yvonne de la Vega, Richard Modiano, Ellyn Maybe, and so many LÁ Poets and Writers, sending off the literary giant, Scott Wannberg, seeding his ashes upon the sacred Beyond Baroque landscape. The new bouquets have bloomed from his ashes. I was absorbed in poetry, and that was indeed my dream wedding; and a vision that Juan embraced.
On our wedding day, we were amongst Bohemians and literary artists and creatives of all types. Antonieta Villamil, Julio “Conga Poet” Rodriguez, was in our wedding party. Mark Lipman shared a poem. Richard Modiano oversaw our nuptials from the upstairs window. Poet Carlyle Archibeque was our photographer. Above all we had the best and “Most Left Rev”, S.A. Griffin marry us! “Can you feel the LOVE!?” he shouted. Yesss, everyone did! Then he asked them again. Omg we love S.A.! He’s literally the most and coolest fella ever, being so Beat, he doesn’t even care. We were so blessed.
We were made part of that Beat lineage in such a sacred space to us. We invited all our family and friends to join us, including prominent poets in our world and in the city. Our audience included Ellyn Maybe, Apryl Skies, Norman Molesko, Radomir V. Luza, Cathy Cole, and the awesome band, my friends, The Sundowners, among other beautiful humans.
It was very incredible…
I can’t believe July 6, 2025, my beloved Juan aka Juan Flautista, aka author of The Beat of an Immigrant Chicano, aka Poet Teacher to hundreds of Spanish speaking students in LA Unified School District, aka the Associate Director of the Los Angeles Poet Society, aka Papa to Luna and Sol, made a difficult decision to go back to his first home in León, Guanajuato, Mexico. Since the beginning of last year, we had been struggling to get even a renewed work permit for him.
By June, our neighborhood started getting more volatile, invaded by the lawless thugs called ICE, learning of disappearances at random, unjust stops of people for just being Brown skinned. Or for speaking Spanish, or for looking Latinx…We became afraid to leave home.
It was exactly on Father’s Day, when the attacks were nearly at our doorstep. Seeing a video of ICE being at our corner liquor store, early that morning and taking 3 people. It was so close to home, just a block away.
We felt unsafe to show our faces outdoors. I was so panicked I even anticipated those pigs pounding on our door. To say we had anxiety was an understatement. We didn’t drive, we didn’t leave. It was no way to live. With disappearances looming, we did not want to risk ourselves. Even as an LÁ native, full citizen, I was still scared for myself, my children, and I didn’t want to risk Juan. As he stated so elegantly on one of his first posts once arriving safe in Mexico, “I am no use to my children, dead. I’m no use to my children if I’m locked up, for doing nothing wrong, but being Brown…”
We debated the decision throughout. An analytical being, Juan, found no safe zone. Though my heart was breaking, there was nothing I could think of, and no good way that would keep him safe from all that was happening. I found myself imagining creating a hiding spot for him under the floorboards, all too reminiscent of poor beautiful Anne Frank. I would get sick thinking that this is what the US has become. All the bullshit ideals they spoon-fed us in school were such a lie.
When Juan spoke of León, it was as a place he had been longing for the whole time that I’ve known him. A place he has been unable to visit for 30 years. As you can read in his book, he crossed the border as a child, so to leave would mean he couldn’t return.
We were now separated because of the political climate that threatened his life. I would never want him to be harmed. The government started stealing people away from their lives. The horror story of countries disappearing their people is gruesome. Your mind just wanders to the personal horrors you imagine. It’s the netherworld’s nether nether land no nether. What the fuck! No one deserves that! They should never have been playing with people’s lives in the first place. It’s disgusting and now an all too common practice here.
Why is this acceptable? It is absolutely NOT acceptable! They’re just too many cowards minding their own business trying not to get in the way. There’s too many people with their hands on dollar bills—on bills—instead of their heart pulsing first.
One of my favorite Spanish words to tongue: “Desgraciado!!” We are learning it every day amplified. I am not mad my beautiful husband left. He saved his life.
Los Angeles Literature 
Jessica, I met you years ago at a coffee house reading in North Hollywood. Your words touched me that afternoon, and what you have pounded out here is beyond…I am speechless. I feel the love of you and your man. I am grateful he is safe and I hold on to the thought that your family will be reunited soon.
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