Selected Poems

                           

                     over three years of sameness 
                     beastified living/encaged,
                     Dad died last year, didn't
                       attend the funeral, feel
                       drained, angry/confused . . . 
                     my only son is 3 years old, 
                     wonder how he is, what he likes . . . 
                     Ramsey No.1 Prison Farm, TDC

   July 14, 1968: A Visit

  Yellow dress, undulant form, 
  it has been long 
  since last we embraced; 
  the screen and safety glass window 
  bar us from hungrily
  touching and reaffirming our love . . .

  "Do I want a coke? Cigarettes?"

  no, not yet-
  let us just sit and stare out 
  the wishes and desires stock-piled 
  these past ten months; let us 
  not think, just say the words 
  we both have hungered 
  to hear and/or shout out.

  "How is our son, querida?"

  "He is so big, Ricardo, and he 
  wanted so to come 
  to visit Daddy
            (who-he thinks-
            is studying in college, 
            and not in prison!) 
  but time and money 
  do present a problem, 
  so that is why
  I could not bring Rikárd."

  Teresa, the hours flew
  as though there were a god 
  or time mechanic 
  who likes to punish
  all convicts and their visitants.

  We'd just sat down
  to drink a coke and chat 
  and smoke a cigarette, 
  when lights flicked on and off 
  announcing:
             "VISITS OVER!"

  You glided away, regretful and hurt.
  You've miles more to go
                and years to wait alone .

  I, too, was mute-
  I couldn't really talk-
  and I so wanted to incant 
  the ways I've thought 
  of sharing love with you . . .

  The days will drag,
  and hopes will come and go, 
  until next time
        (a year or so from now) 
  the cycle stops 
  for just another moment, 
  until we chat 
  and drink another coke or two 
  and fill the air 
  with cigarette smoke 
  once more.