Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 22

I have walked the streets of many

cities, flown to many places, slept

in foreign parks, pretended to have

a home in cracked spaces across a

thousand shores, found people beside

me say nothing of stumbling with

sorrow, melancholy junkies with a

taste for cheap wine drunk after a

numbing fix. I have seen people in

the barrio unconcerned with where

they live lose sight of their dearest

dreams and get lowered into earth.

I have wandered neighborhood cemeteries

shaking my head at graves with notes

taped to headstones and colorful flowers

with rotting petals the things left behind

to scream regret. I have known the

taste of absence, the obscenities of faith,

the church dropped into darkness, and my

soul thickly sick. I wait for the stainless

days when the low voice of the beggar

in rags at the end of a dark street calls

your life is moored to another shore so

stand up—I walk now for the sake of

him.