Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 29

the streets have grown a little older,

the wails of infants walked in strollers

hardly ever heard, the old Jewish

fiddler who played the alleys with

music from another world has long

been dead, the priest who everyone

said had kept a trench on his tongue

for just in case days was lifted to

paradise, and the piragüeros on the

boulevard come from Mexico, now.

when you forget what it was like on

the block come visit to stand in front of

Henry’s building that still has a Big H

painted on the second floor wall, lean against