Other Seasons. Harold J. Recinos

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      family lost its roof and had to sleep beneath a street

      of stars. I never imagined pale faced poor till then, so

      I gathered the Nuyorican shoe shine boys on the block,

      told them they best pray up better days for redheaded

      Leroy with Saint Patty’s name, then convinced them

      to drop a quarter in a cup to buy the life line checker

      set. when somebody bought the desk lamp the look

      in the Irish mother’s eyes was like an Angel came by

      saying do not be afraid you will be paid with scanty

      Spanish speaking cash, instead of city dust. on that

      day, I swear the multicolored poor on the block

      could not have loved each other more with the very

      simple kindness the rest of the world did not care

      to give.

      [Breakfast]

      she starts the day listening to the

      news in the tiny kitchen of a two

      room apartment, the motions of

      her hand stirring Oatmeal her kids

      will eat for breakfast before walking a

      long way to school in the company

      of the morning wind. without thinking

      about her misery she manages to say a

      little pray to the Mother of Peace to

      request mercy for the ladies on the

      block who look into the faces of their

      children every day hoping they will know

      years of perfect life. when you look deeply

      into her eyes you will find in them something

      no one on the block can completely give, a thing

      in her that never fades, an ancient presence like

      the stones on the empty lot about to speak, the

      clouds crowning school children’s heads, or Angel’s

      come to earth for play—the simple miracle of love.

      [Evening Prayer]

      in the wilderness of the soul, God is present.

      in human imperfection, God is present.

      in the mystery of consciousness, God is present.

      in the forgiveness of things, God is present.

      in the kind gesture of welcoming love, God is present.

      in the simplicity of childish things, God is present.

      in the incurable laughter of being, God is present.

      in misery turned hope, God is present.

      If not here, then nowhere.

      [The Return]

      I don’t understand a thing about yesterday

      though it must be around somewhere the

      eye simply cannot see. sometimes I wonder

      if it will catch up to me with a strong rain, reach

      out from a dim place in the middle of the night insisting

      on talking about domestic affairs, or have me simply sit in

      a chair to listen to bygone events like they were happening

      fresh over again. I don’t understand a thing about the way

      yesterday takes on light to appear with missing friends risen

      again who slowly walk up a road broadening in my mind where

      they meet me like it’s the first time. I don’t understand why

      nearly everything swallowed by yesterday is nearly forgotten,

      like the six transistor radio that fit in a pocket, the cheap

      wine kids drank to ritually spew, the wide-eyed mornings

      with rice soup eaten before long walks to the English only

      school, the box full of books about other worlds that vanished

      into air, and the small good things that helped our captive

      time leak dreams. I quit counting yesterday, turned away from

      its disappearing act, and vowed to walk like Tito’s blind uncle

      tapping my way around the forward turning hands of the clock

      toward what the future brings. who knows I may well understand

      yesterday and all the faulty things it stores coming finally unmasked

      for me.

      [9/11]

      how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks,

      months, years ago did the world on a Tuesday

      morning bleed? how many remember the night before

      everything changed by showing us what loathed

      human flesh can become? Will the multiplying death

      piled on many mountains now of splintered bones ever

      bring us peace? we are up early with our grief talking

      of these things in a world distorted by crooked views

      of God and the innocent who were killed. today, we

      will go to the places where hell appeared with black

      flowers to hear prayers calling for blessings and the

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