Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 10

I spent many hours walking

the streets, crossing bridges

into other boroughs at night

to get a good look at the city

in glimmering light, feeling

the cool breeze brushing the

dirt from the corduroy jacket

given to me by an elderly Puerto

Rican man who saw me sleeping

alone in the basement behind

Cookies apartment. Often, I

went to the rooftop thinking

about old bible school stories,

imaging it a place like Mount

Sinai, looking for miles in the

dark for a revelation that would

give me endless reasons to hope

and dream. I walked down the

Grand Concourse in shoes with

holes, surrounded by people I

did not know, smiling at the sweet

sound of Spanish dropping from

their tongues, sometimes stopping

on the corner like it was a bank

on the river Jordan where slaves

wept for freedom, to cry like a

captive eager for the Promised

Land. I spent many hours alone

in cities far, near and across a

vast sea, waiting for the sweet

rolling of the river troubled from

above to see me and the earth’s

despised children to the other

side.