Breathing Space. Harold J. Recinos

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СКАЧАТЬ the old

      who longed for distant lands, the

      stones still pounded by footsteps

      keeping time with the hard labor of

      the poor, and their children who never

      grow tired of skipping on them without

      touching a single crack. some nights

      on a probing stroll guided by weak

      light coming from tenement windows,

      we offered scathing prayers to heaven

      trusting it would motivate a serious

      conversation with the Maker who doled

      out more than a few mistakes without

      giving a simple explanation. one night, we

      decided to walk dragging our feet over the

      stone, sing a few songs to stray dogs scavenging

      rubbish cans, look into the dark until our eyes

      adjusted to clearly see, and then listen closely for

      strange words that came prancing up the street

      in a well-traveled body sharing wisdom about the

      beginning, end and whole damn big thing.

      Night

      last night, I woke to the sound

      of the wind gusting outside the

      apartment window, listened to

      it searching for a message to

      borrow from the other side of

      the border, where laughter is

      still more real than the tears

      pouring to the city sidewalks,

      I prayed in the shivering arms of

      night, a quick word would float

      into the room that you somehow

      would see in the walk north a light

      in front of the building and then

      make your way to it. in the mournful

      village you left behind, on the soft lips

      that kissed you farewell, across a shrinking

      distance, I could almost hear the wildly

      shouted praise of the tiny church offering

      you the company of a border crossing God

      to carry on the weary trip. I will stay awake

      waiting for the telephone to ring and

      in the bare night hear your sweet brown

      lips declare, I am here!

      The Fire

      there are flashes to make

      you wonder who reads the

      history books packed with

      screams hurled from brown

      skinned and despised people

      like me. we have lived for

      centuries on these American

      shores with flesh counted a

      reason to fear, absorbed by

      your need to deny this land

      is not home for us. how long

      must we endure fighting about

      who belongs, mocking pale faces

      dressed up with disobedient love

      and blind to every sacred colored

      face? when the next moon shines

      and you allow the broken world

      to make you think remember the

      ticking clocks across the nation

      speak the language of a thicker

      past, tales about our brown bent

      backs tilting toward equality where

      freedom begins!

      First Light

      do not be afraid of the

      haywire head of state

      who eats the innocent

      for breakfast with sinful

      tweets. shake the trembling

      from your dark skin while

      you march and pray to end

      the fatal days steering national

      life. don’t feel anxious about

      the pale light advancing, the

      mouths of his kind filled with

      flies, the lingering rhetoric of

      hate, the repugnant words taking

      your beloved country far from

      God. with each step taken on

      this dusty earth today recall the

      scent of sweeter times, the goodness

      sliding in the dark to crack open

      the sealed doors keeping peace

      and justice in prison. keep looking

      straight ahead for those who carry

      the familiar Cross that in this young

      democracy says the least of these like

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