Voices on the Corner. Harold J. Recinos

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      once again, they say. it’s Latino town and Julia

      and Tito have opened their first-floor window

      real wide listening to the music they put on la

      radiola while rehearsing the moves for tonight’s big

      baile. it’s Latino town and in front of the bodega

      sit Don Carlo, Don Pepe, Don Wilfredo, and Charly

      on milk boxes emptied of treats, playing dominoes.

      it’s Latino town, and all the smiles are in

      Spanish. . . .

      Madness

      gazing into the distance,

      the wind pressing against

      our shoulders, the black

      crows thickly flock in the

      darkness of a world strutting

      intolerance of difference in

      an endless season of religious

      madness. in the procession

      of the dead, the hell hung for

      us by pious killers for view

      in the bloody public squares,

      speak the end. under this

      threatening cloud lives

      whisper through the deafening

      silence stories of unrecognizable

      human beings who mount truth

      with violence in the name of

      blood-spilling Gods. you born

      beneath the bright enormous star,

      why not come to us now?

      The Traveler

      you walked past the colossal

      gate with barred windows these

      days adorned to say no praying,

      kneeling, worshiping, spitting or

      eulogizing allowed. emaciated

      with travel, words scattered along

      the way sparkled with your tale

      of heading to a land full of those

      who daily rouse to applaud the end

      of senseless days that suffocate life.

      you carried small bags with all your

      possessions in them, firm memories

      wrapped for the trip in scraps of paper,

      family photos for trying times, even a

      note from the village priest. more

      than once you paused along the way

      hiding from the moon to catch your

      breath in the dark, eyes filling with tears

      for those left behind in ruined places.

      faintly, you laughed about the coming

      change at the border’s edge, and heaven

      on wings you dreamed would meet you.

      The Bell

      ring the bells a little longer

      for the fading year with the

      carols that sweetly play of

      peace on earth. with this

      forgotten sound let all nations

      ring uplifting cries against

      the crime of war, the faithless

      times, the hearts turned away

      from your coming crown

      of thorns. ring the bells for the

      spilled blood where God lives,

      for the clamoring throng beneath

      the light of the spirit fed Star, for

      the helpless of sight, the broken

      mouths, the bloodied heads, wrinkled

      laborers hands, and beggars cold tonight.

      ring the bells above the graves, in

      darkened homes, and hardened hearts,

      yes, ring the bells, let them witness

      Christ in mercy has come.

      The Visit

      I walked the block today

      past the corner barbershop

      with speakers over the front

      door that played the music

      of our world and made

      walkers stand quietly to

      ponder thickly the past

      year like it was another

      time. wandering in dreams

      was the stained-glass window

      on the big church familiar

      to the mothers who work

      like servants downtown

      from five to nine each

      day for little kids who should

      not spend a lifetime on these

      streets. I walked СКАЧАТЬ