Читать книгу Other Seasons - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 6

I walked down Canal Street

where grocers sell fish from iced

tables in front of their stores that

have strange Chinese names. a sign

nearly unseen behind a plump Buddha

in one of them read se habla español.

three Puerto Rican ladies were inside

the place smiling beside a tank with live

catch saying names unheard by the

merchant’s tongue that came to New York

from the Far East. I stopped on the loud

sidewalk in front of the shop to smile at

them from the ordinary shadows of

the market street. I walked further along

the block aware it was nearly night and

soon the stars would turn on above the

city’s rooftops daring us to sleep and

stroking park vagrant’s hair with a gentle

breeze. I walked by a man playing blue

melodies on a worn violin to the banks

where the Hudson River spreads to enjoy her

flashy current rushing swiftly, there I imagined

lives past, present and still to come to share in

this world. I sat to catch my breath looking across

the brown waters and allowed the coming

night to drop peace on me like Bronx Angels’

sing.