Word Simple. Harold J. Recinos

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СКАЧАТЬ for you, since the night an

      old Brown lady yelled in the storefront

      church on the corner gloria a Dios change

      is coming, soon. if you like, we can stop

      in to see this old woman who knows how

      to pull apart the gods people have carefully

      made, she will listen to the stories you

      care to conjure, and then she will tell you

      to face the closed door her children have

      pounded for years. if you walk with me

      a little further, to the bodega where the old

      men once soldiers sit, you will discover from

      them the stains on our democracy were

      made with blood and all kinds of colored

      skin. you may be surprised, by the close

      of this stroll beneath the fat moon, you

      may end up talking with new depth

      into our light and dreams.

      Rising Up

      quietly,

      I sat in the rising

      light of this day absorbed

      by news of a new president

      who hardly gives a thought

      to a future of peace, the people

      who sing their children to sleep in

      Spanish, the blameless refugees who

      recall with prayer the God who lives

      in the Middle East, the shouting eyes

      of women marching the streets, and

      the Black lives rising up to chase away

      darkness from every side.

      quietly,

      I listened to the chirping birds around me

      say in their very gentle ways, the great

      Maker filled the lot of us with life to rob

      the moron in power a lengthy Oval Office

      stay, their songs filled me with the most

      peculiar joy for in the faces of all those the

      bellicose leader scorns with his indecorous

      rhetoric of hate the richer light of the One

      crowned with thorns staggers from the dark

      to make a loving case.

      quietly,

      I recollected while pushing hope into the

      tormented day, the new White House clay

      will one day also turn to dust, have to reckon

      with the angry breathe of God, and wonder

      on the road to Peter’s Gate past the great

      hills folding above the life settled from sea

      to shining sea what awaits him—I chuckled

      at the thought: A Wall!

      The Stripper

      one night

      in the middle of winter

      moonlight flooded

      the bedroom

      to make it

      feel a world

      without end.

      But looking

      out the window

      at the strained street,

      I recalled

      the smell of the

      bar where Sonia

      dissolved

      dreams

      dancing near

      naked for greasy

      men who

      emptied their pockets

      of change for a

      peak.

      my heart twisted

      remembering

      the day Sonia

      said Johnny the

      cop wanted her

      to be his

      perfect girl.

      I cried recalling

      the walk in the

      little park where

      Sonia stepped on a dry leaf

      that crunched so loudly

      beneath her foot she

      whispered—that is

      life for me. I looked

      up at the moon with

      my wet eyes stared

      it in the face to say Sonia

      with her choked heart

      is trying to outlast

      these splitting

      days.

      Charmed

      she sits in a rocking chair going

      back to the stories that charmed

      her heart for hours, tales read in

      the dim light of a child’s room

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