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[from August, 1999:]
The past
Sometimes the past slams the door in your face
Even if you phone first to say that you are coming
Even if you politely bring a bouquet of flowers and a box of candy
It's no matter to the impervious past
that doesn't care about furture consequences
because they already happened
The past turns its back and leaves me pounding on its portals
My cries echo in the dust.
* * * *
[from April 21, 1999:]
The clocks don't tick
and no one wears a
watch
Time asserts itself
itself only by
the dark and the
light
and that urge to eat
three times a day.
* * * *
[from February 16, 1999:]
Visiting the Hometown
Fifty years ago she'd been a woman
And I a little girl
But on this day we both walked as grandmothers
through the familiar east side streets
It used to be the poor and workaday part of town
fifty years ago
But now the shops, the stalls, the cafes and crowds
Make it the happening hood
The town changed as much as we
Only our love stayed the same
* * * *
Rain
A Nicaraguan girl tells me she feels sad when it rains
"Why?" I ask.
"Because children die."
"From rain?"
"They fall in the deep open sewers and drown."
A year later it rained in Nicaragua for many days and nights.
The hurricane blew. The lakes flooded.
The mountains slid down and ate the towns.
The volcanoes spilled mud
covering people, houses and animals.
The little girl said she was afraid it was the apocalypse
until the sun came out and the wind died down.
Families fled to the capital city
to sleep in school yards.
Crops, livestock, tools and clothes
gone with the wind, the mud, the rain.
Bodies floated on the water.
Arms and legs stuck up from the mud.
Hungry survivors grieved for the lost ones and worldly goods.
I know why the little girl says she feels sad when it rains.
* * * *
[from January 20, 1999:]
I Have Dreams
Dreams of the tall man
He is wonderful
Dreams of my only enemy
He hasn't been back in years
His biggest night was when he stuffed me into
a little car in the Spook House
with all my hopes
I was plunged into darkness
and rolled out into the center of an arena
in the bright light
Dreams of Mr.& Mrs. Pocho
They are always mocking me
scorning any claims I make
to achievments or virtues
Dreams of the car
It's out of control
Dreams of the theatre
The curtains going up
I don't know which part I'm playing
Dreams of the disgusting
fouling everything
Wake up wake up whenever I dream of water
I never let myself dream of water
That's how I was trainned
"If you dream of water—
quick—wake up and go to the bathroom"
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