After Eden. Harold J. Recinos

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СКАЧАТЬ leave foreigners in peace. your

      troubled dust has been up in the early

      morning for months holding tightly to

      the hope that Angels would shortly come

      and slip you a pass to basically live, take

      you away from the shackles of evil States,

      and allow your thoughts to breathe. you

      will continue these morning prayers until

      the long road you have taken North gives

      you rest, the Bethlehem star is once again

      in sight, and the world that hates your

      company confesses the presence of a

      divine-king in your brown Spanish

      speaking face!

      The Substitute

      the school bell rings to call

      pupils inside for the start of

      a fresh day of learning. in

      class a substitute eagerly waits

      for everyone to take their seats,

      then announces they will spend

      a little time reviewing newspaper

      clips for current events. the teacher

      graduated from a local city college,

      the kind filled with the children of

      immigrants who speak in tongues of

      the good news that led their family

      name to North American shores.

      Mr. Laboda dreamed himself into

      the teaching world, filled with the joy

      of leaving a speck of himself in kids

      who will learn to unveil the dark for

      themselves, and keep imaginary sails

      within them from slack. that morning

      the students discussed New York Times

      headlines, the errors of government, the

      misunderstandings burning houses down,

      the fear of foreigners, bombs dropped on

      Afghan heads, the dried blood papers find

      a thousand ways to ignore, and the tilted

      telling of truth.

      War Drums

      I visited the well-lit corner

      on the other side of Southern

      Boulevard in that time of day

      everyone kept telling me too

      many kids forget a needle with

      dope coped on the block would

      leave them dead. after the mounting

      years of war this country has used to

      to count passing years, I particularly

      recalled Viet Nam protesters gathered on

      that very spot unpacking their Spanish

      objections in the name of bringing home

      the neighborhood poor who were dying in

      jungles for rich men’s greed, far from

      diplomacy and the requirements of peace.

      on that specific day, I saw Manolo’s mother

      standing on the spot pouring her life in

      tears, since her son came from the jungle

      just to die in a tenement hallway with a

      needle fixed in his veins. she whispered

      into my ear, whenever the country is at war

      the poor kids around here stop dreaming of

      big things, and Tío Sam carts them away to

      become citizens that die in the ghastly lands,

      and for what! I carry this corner with me each

      day praying for the war drums to stop their tenacious

      beating, always asking the good Lord to soften the

      the stone hearts of the men responsible for sending

      poor kids to die in the name of their arrogance and

      gluttony.

      Waiting

      I was born in the arms of a tender world with voices beneath a greying city sky telling stories of penniless days.

      slowly I began to crawl guided by small lights on the block, to

      walk in its varied dark, and grow

      older in a wreckage field of Spanish names. I watched buildings go up in flames in the arson days of those who never felt this land a welcome place. I listened in many

      tongues to the conceited excuses

      explaining why in the barrio people

      are undone, our hopes steered into

      ignominious graves and our lives

      treated like filthy specks of dust.

      someday, when night approaches the

      morning light, the blind start to see,and the world moves a little closer to truth, our hellish gates will unlock

      and the wailing in this forsaken land

      will come to a just end.

      Bricks

      one long summer morning, I spent

      the time trying to count the bricks

      that СКАЧАТЬ