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romus simpson
listening to anna
i would speak to you in spanish
but you would not understand
i am remembering puerto rico
that laughter laced in light and congas still
strews the darkness with small stars
but no flags fly at the united nations
i am too small a thing now for diplomacy
look at these hands
these legs of mere bone thickness
my hair thinning indian trails behind me
and today is so beautiful
cars and people and a festival somewhere
all these beautiful men here in new york
the window is a sound laden light
but i am not strong enough
and imagine the sun hurting me
my skin glove leather sheen
my eyes without color
this morning i looked in the mirror for a long while
i did not cry
my death comes with no face
its work here is time
scratching the moon to its iris each night
it sits around fingering the keepsakes
-i ate this morning
although it was a little
i didn't want it
but i know that i must eat and not vomit
it really doesn't matter
i couldn't taste the food
-we loved the american language
look here the news
isn't the news always on somewhere?
lying about the city
reporting what's happening and what may be happening
or what may happen
never any news on afro latinos
just us blacks defrauding welfare
the other day they had a15 minute segment on melons
it was interesting however
did you know that all melons are edible?
i don't think that was on this channel
but all the news programs speak
the same language in the same tone
with the same distance
i mean the heart of what is being said
never reaches our bodies
it seems that there is nothing on television today-
anna says-
my mother called the other day
she doesn't call often
i don't think she can handle this
she has no words to say
no spells to rebuke my pain
you see she's a church woman
and i am sure she's prayed with all
the mothers in puerto rico with
daughters in the american cities
my cousin juan rickey brings her the word
she made gifts for all the saints
bothered the priests until they glanced their annoyance
but i got worse
her karma parading in the summer streets with
posters of her sister’s abortions
or a penance gouging the brow of jesus
some ache like salt making life a proper sweetness
so she calls and her silences speak to my childhood
the disease gets in her way
it is too tall for her hands
too wide
its expanse too vast to look across
she told me the people said hello
the people from home who once braided my hair
and smiled at my singing
and one fella she saw in at the market who asked to date me
i could barely talk that soundless morning
i was so sick and had wanted death
but who can find anyone in new york?
my mother talked
she was sitting at the yellow table
the fragrant san juan morning made bread all around her
her tomatoes and chiles had ripened
she had brought beef from a vendor
in her world puerto rico is a shirtless storm
a strong poor man who sings everyday to the world
that day she was off to see her friend
wearing the jade and turquoise rings i sent her
they were going to smoke cigars together and gamble
i tried to smile so she could see how i appreciated her call
i held the phone close
i whispered little things
i was so sick
she said good bye
i said the same
and cried-
and the afternoon
the open windows
the city concrete
three floors below us
hustling its metals
stepping off its corners
calling its taxis in clear profanity
here the room dark flowered cluttered
this story hidden behind the newspaper stacks
anna is dying alone
and one can almost hear jazz
turning its L’s
in the humming of old women |
| Romus
Simpson
is a graduate of
California State University at Long Beach. He is a veteran of more than
360 performances of his poetry in Southern California at various
universities, festivals, and other events. email: R. Simpson |
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