Читать книгу Word Simple - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 27

the last time I visited Carmen

she said the neighbors upstairs

are stealing her mail. some nights

she imagines they are standing just

outside her apartment door casting

spells to turn her hours into ice cold

stone. when you walk by her door

on the third floor of the building it’s

easy to hear her talking to her dead

son about the days they use to go out

dancing in the Bronx clubs Tito Puente

played, the aluminum Christmas tree

they would put up each year with a

rainbow colored spot light shining in

a dark living room on it, the trips to

Orchard Beach to stand looking over