Читать книгу Breathing Space - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 11

we searched for days on the

cobbled streets of the Bronx

still bearing witness to stories

believed on them by the old

who longed for distant lands, the

stones still pounded by footsteps

keeping time with the hard labor of

the poor, and their children who never

grow tired of skipping on them without

touching a single crack. some nights

on a probing stroll guided by weak

light coming from tenement windows,

we offered scathing prayers to heaven

trusting it would motivate a serious

conversation with the Maker who doled

out more than a few mistakes without

giving a simple explanation. one night, we

decided to walk dragging our feet over the

stone, sing a few songs to stray dogs scavenging

rubbish cans, look into the dark until our eyes

adjusted to clearly see, and then listen closely for

strange words that came prancing up the street

in a well-traveled body sharing wisdom about the

beginning, end and whole damn big thing.