After Eden. Harold J. Recinos
exit stain beneath the stars, and said your name however foolish the
sound for the ears of the One who too expired before his time at your very
age in a place called Golgotha.
Lost Name
you have been here long
enough to lose your name,
wonder about the looks of
of the world escaped, the
last dirt road walked in the
shoes you wore across the
border, and the long night
of saying farewell. you have
been here long enough to say
the fortune-tellers at the little
church know too little about
your world of laments, the
loss of a mother to a soldier’s
gun, your sister skinned by
his bayonet, and his death
dealing shots responsible for
making orphans with dirty
cartridges that everyone knew
were American made. you have
been here long enough to hear
the whispered words of those
recounting measureless pain,
the terrifying images of Jesus’
followers hanging from trees,
and to complain to God who
circles the stars with justice
never seen. you have been here
long enough to demand an end
to the evil done by the crooked
money-grubbing bunch so far
from God—the witnesses who
weep with you know!
The Apartment
for many years she had lived
in the slum inside an apartment
wrapped in colorful cloth carried
from another country, receiving
friends on plastic covered living
room furniture into the deep night,
brushing the dust from the papered
roses carefully placed in pots in the
corners of her three rooms, never
giving a single thought to two jobs
held packing coats and cleaning
floors, unconcerned about the
feint light from the neighborhood
sky barely making its way into her
bedroom window, and kneeling before
an altar of religious relics to strain
after answers all day. for years she
had lived in that apartment waiting
for the mighty tears of God to pour
on the edges of her far-off world, to
flood sidewalks toward the promises
of this worldly glory, carry her in the
untainted currents of praise, and widen
her heavy heart with sweetly packed
mysteries. in her tiny paradise in the
old tenement that some would say is
unbearable, she listened for the wind
to fly strongly into her dark rooms to
turn her in sleep with good news from
the mountain top—I just love to sit with
her listening, too!
The Border
I crossed the border after
walking for miles with an
open mouth eating fresh
clean air and scraps of
corn and beans given to
me by old women who
promised to pray. alone,
at night, after staring for
awhile at a brilliant partial
moon, I pulled out the book
of lies to read a few lines to
see whether this time it would
convince me to believe in the
perfection on the other side of
the stars, in peace soon to come
this way like a blinking light at
a busy traffic corner that says
take the next turn to find the
promised land. I crossed the
border to discover a different
neverland, to live in a world
of stares that make God flinch,
work my farmers hands in city
days and stay out of sight each
long dark night. I left the place
where the air is brown, made it
to the choking English streets,
spend extra time in my large room
of memories, and look around for
loving kindness to hit me like a
glad verse from the book of psalms.
I crossed the border like Christ with
undocumented faith, a heart half-full
of doubt, and an old pocket Bible
deeply out of step. I crossed the
border to the land happy to march
strangers like me to the grave, while
yelling on the way there is no light
from heaven for wetbacks and spics!
The Scent
in the autumn of life age
delivers us to unsuspected
worlds where quietly we sit
to observe the leaves on the
fall trees gently touch earth.
we wonder about things left
undone, the pitch desires still
circling in our graying hearts,
the sweet bridges that brought
us far, the beauty that is much
deeper than changing form, flesh,
and bones. each day more loosely
laced, we feel the world young in
every part within, the memories
of reckless youth now giving us
sweet rest, and