Читать книгу Stony the Road - Harold J. Recinos - Страница 9

when the moon rises

above the rooftops I

find time to play with

shadows that make me

think about meeting you

nearly every day on the

same bench in Tompkins

Square park. we talked

of abandoned tenements,

vagabond cats singing into

the early morning dark, new

immigrants squatting in the

empty buildings, the Ukrainians

at tables on first Avenue eating

beet borscht, the hundreds of

hustlers on New York’s streets

strumming guitars, entertaining

the public with jokes or begging

to make the next meal. you looked

innocent on the Lower East Side,

a foreigner still dreaming of the

warm sun that pranced the edges

of the rainforest, never troubled

about having no place in the new

world, your voice gently falling

into me and the stars declaring

you alive. I held your clay hand

in mine, loved you completely

and promised to tell the world to

see life in your undocumented

flesh.