Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 24

we have gathered words these

many years to write letters to

spread across the sky until the

end of time. the voices rise in

the harvest fields, they carol

songs from histories ground to

the deaf of ear, speak heaven’s

dreams to those who labor in the

kitchen, patching tires, fixing cars,

building things, packing meat, serving

food, harvesting crops, laying bricks,

mending pipes, nailing wood, stretching

wire, playing sports, raising kids, teaching

school, holding court, leading Mass, healing

the sick, and marching to old Uncle Sam’s

beating drum. we have gathered this month

with aged blood-shot eyes to remind

America of her beautiful brown skin and

a history magnificently chatted for hundreds

of years in Spanish. we have gathered on

the white porches calling for liberty to come

out, loathing to be carried away in chains, and

invisibility to plunge without halting a single

step into the deepest grave. we have gathered

to tell you with perfect broken-hearted dreams

America through all our deeds is the place we

rumble loud for home, justice, belonging and

peace.