Читать книгу After Eden - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 6

do you remember that first

day the roosters crowed in

the next-door apartment to

step out of the dark, inhaling

the smell of peeled oranges on

the carts heading to Southern

Boulevard with old men, the

intoxicating odors of a season

that had us lean into the day not

thinking of the reeking streets. do

you remember climbing on top

of it to gallop past the procession

of church goers dressed up like

it mattered to heaven, the pigeons

taking flight from us, the invisible

rushing down the street with us past

the old Cathedral where nothing ever

happened. do you remember losing

yourself in the little things of the

block, smiling at grandmothers with

shopping carts, the lost look on the

pale faces of Roman collared priests

trying to figure out how to name the

things they really love. dear brother,

I adore the way yesterday hands me the

splendor of such things, how that time

never yelled at us for speaking Spanish,

or having sweet brown skin. I have the

pleasure of such days with you inside

of me, which lets me laugh in a world

too often dressed for mourning.