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Church Time

every Sunday when prayers

were said in church, the music

sounded, the barrio streets were

thought distant, people got down

on their knees reciting stories to

the crucifix on the wall behind

the aging altar. light is never

spent in the dark, the eternally

gone loved and people living

with quiet dignity did the best

they could living the simplicity of

love to near heaven. in the Spanish

speaking sanctuary those who

are weary belong and like the

sugarcane cutters and coffee

pickers they slice...

Redeemed

there is something to be

said about the tender life

in this village that handled

time like it waited for it to

be lost. Spring is beautiful

here where the elderly wait

for a piece of heaven to fall

from the sky, hours expand

with children playing on the

street and sadness drops like

leaves from trees. there are

living beside the sparkling

lake campesinos who wake

in the morning to make their

way to fields where they toil

the day long thinking about

days when no stone will be

silent on their...

Saints

I am sitting in the garden
with a statue of Saint Francis

and the Sacred Mother and
pieces of heaven are being

marshaled by squirrels and
colorful birds bouncing on

grass. for a few moments
split from a troubled world

I live in the luxurious silence
of peace and I offer thanks

to the mystery that matched
me with this spell. I think of

modern Saints like Romero
and confess they have not

washed the world clean but
almost imperceptibly days

of sin have changed in the
villages of a country named

for...

Exile City

I have learned to understand

things in two mother tongues

and one entered more recently

in dictionaries as slang. I have

lived with exiled words, in

forsaken worlds, vocabulary

invented at the edges of life

and in places never visited by

those ingeniously dodging the

ruined. I have lived among the

beaten, the weeping, the stabbed,

the shot, the jailed and the dead

for whom God looks the other

way. I have walked the streets

with people exiled, those that

do not come back to far away

lands that...

Sugar Cane

the youngest boy who had

just settled in a tenement on

the block sank his teeth on a

stalk of sugar cane. he started

to chew pausing from time to

time to throw around Spanish

words he carried from an old

ravaged world. the scars on

the little boys back were signs

of resistance when forced to

work on a coffee farm though

far too many people never did

notice he occupied a place in

reality like them. the shadows

that afternoon crawled around

the building steps like they too

wanted to take a bite of...

The Search

I have been searching

for a language without

need for words, felt like

the wind, made with the

ingredients of love and

nourishing the sad, poor

and weak. I searched for

it on bus rides across the

country, flights over the

sea, in images on maps

and even fireflies on hot

summer nights. that day

will come when eyes see

bright red flowers growing

from rocks, the smell of

mangoes rises from the

farthest places across the

border and the people with

torn flesh walk into a new

world. I have searched...

Tear

a tear is a little lake

at the corner of an eye

that pushes itself up

from the heart. it is

a droplet of memory,

an exhausted dream

and a moist sign of a

tired soul. I often sit

at night giving thanks

to the heavens for life

blessed with more than

the world imagined for

one born in the barrio,

though the grayer my

years the more tears I

shed for the cost to so

many just to push me

over wall after wall. I

try in solitude to explain

tears that fall to the earth

like shadows, shimmer

in dim light like...

Aging

as time unfolds, nature

insists we take with us

into the wrinkled years

new passengers. there are

moments when you quietly

sit drifting in and out of the

sweet memories of love and

play, while on occasion you

open your eyes from a nightly

dream glad to recall a name

you spent a day trying to rise

inside of you. yes, Mr. Yeats

I am old and gray but not yet

full of sleep, though I admit

my heart has changed with far

too many days of sorrow. with

time dealing new cards, I have

become more aware that...

The Drive

the long drive into the country

to begin a mountain climb, the

winding past the warning not

to turn left where death lurked

in the valley, waving to ladies

selling coconut juice on sides

of the bumpy road, children

at play in front of ramshackle

shacks, multicolored blooms

on the hillsides reminding me

despite the civil war what is

beautiful waits with me at the

foot of these mountains for the

second coming. for hours my

heart was beating faster than

words in me rose, the pickup

truck pulled me...

Lord

good Lord, we been awake

all night quite scared. hope

that came with us is beaten

and left alone on the corner

with other shattered dreams.

good Lord, if only you tried

to stop the hands that lash us,

went seeking more than any

of us and sent a few Angels

around with loudly fluttering

wings to guard us from the

crooked who we pray you turn

into a fistful of ashes so we

can scatter them at sea. good

Lord, we woke up saying we

done praying, our mouths have

no way with words cause when

we break loose...

The Stroll

Rosa strolled down the street

with her two kids, a boy on

roller skates passed by them,

the grocer came out to sweep

the sidewalk in front of his

store wearing a smile and

in unison they looked up at

the sky aware from church

lessons it was not forbidden.

she lived without fear on the

block, the people were her

mountain, mornings belonged

to her and she carried the little

village she fled years earlier in

her voice. when she reached

Southern Boulevard, a wide

street annually decorated for...

Blessing

I have a memory that

issues forth in evenings

like a shining star in the

dark I will never reach.

in melancholy it speaks

to me of unholy spirits

that I beat into joy and

release to the triumphant

paths of paradise not yet

found. I often see old men

cutting sugar cane in fields,

old women taking pastries

to sell in the market place,

children playing in breaking

waves at the edge of the sea,

and the look in your eyes

just before you said adios

to withdraw to a deep and

wide eternity. what else

...

Subway

we rode the number two

subway to Manhattan to

walk in Central Park, ride

the carousel, walk along

Fifth Avenue to see Saint

Patrick’s Cathedral and

leave the Bronx Streets

behind. we saw lots of

white faces, well dressed

people, foreigners with

fancy cameras on tour

and taking pictures at

Rockefeller Center. we

talked while making our

way to Bryant Park to see

the lions at the entrance of

the New York City Library

of Carmen Julia who got

strung out with her dealer

boyfriend and perished on

a filthy...

Heaven

anything can happen waiting

for heaven in the clear blue sky

to descend on the neighborhood

with the old tenement buildings

that have been speaking Spanish

for more than six decades and

making evenings on the block

gasp with sadness. anything can

happen in the places heaven is

invited to drive bad days into the

earth and allow us to breathe the

remnants of precious dreams that

plead for light in us. anything can

happen to me in America that has

not held me like a mother and with

a lewd tongue...

Culture

it has not been easy preserving

my culture, language and ways

to think about God surrounded

by an English speaking world

trying to engulf me in an alleged

superior way of knowing things

and claiming it a dispensation

from heaven. with my mother

tongue I learned to reduce the

world to stones that spoke to

me, the dead who cried with

me, the priests who found ways

to whisper stories about how la

Morenita walks with me on all

the messy streets. it hasn’t been

easy to preserve the child in me

who...

Listen

you did not hear me

calling your name in

the evenings that held

you close miles away

in a Spanish speaking

world where the dew

each morning I recall

spoke your name. the

distance was sadness,

the civil war terrifying

and quietly I tossed prayers

to heaven. listen, I love

you like the winds that

blow in Central American

valleys and on city streets.

for years, you have held

me fair, my dreams are

made of songs about you

and the children we call

ours to whom I am known

by heart are a blessing like...

Village Walk

the road narrowly stretched

out in a long line toward the

place of hidden secrets sleeping

in a church where light clustered

like fireflies in June. the voices

singing in the sanctuary came

clearly and sweetly to me so

I closed my eyes and allowed

the sounds to lengthen into the

night. upon that mystery in the

little village church I rested my

heart troubled by trodden paths

taken in a civil war world with

too many youths perishing. the

long walk made me wonder what

was won, who is living...

ICE

they are killing us at

the bus stops, on the

sidewalks, apartment

buildings, during traffic

stops, detention centers,

in front of our children,

and always in the name

of hate. they are killing

us while too many look

the other way, churches

roll away their Bibles

and those of us not yet

murdered remain to wipe

away the bitter tears. they

are killing us in the Midwest,

from coast to coast and in

the places the goodness of

God appears unable to reach.

they are killing the young

Brown men, little kids,...

Echo

in nightly hours, I had a

dream that should have

been paradise for people

on the block nostalgic for

the pulse of peaceful days

by the sea. I did not say

a single word of prayer in

it to God wearing a human

face with a long beard and

robes, life was not governed

by lies, no one was attacked

with police batons, the pious

did not imagine who next to

stone and the practices of

widows reminded everyone

to dream of lands across the

border and rocks way out at

sea. an elegant table in the

dream was spread with...

The Frescoes

the stoop was made into a

place of joy without money,

bricks, wood, paint, furniture,

and the things needed to build

such a space. we gathered on

thick hot days to tell slow stories,

and laugh about things arising in

time and space. unseen dealings

were exposed in dreams, memories

of bygone days and celebrations

enjoyed of how far in life we’ve

come. beneath a field of stars, we

never lived in darkness, no one

was diminished and feelings passed

between stoop sitters like candle

flames...