Friday, April 20, 2007


Gideon’s – no, not the Bible—
Bakery – in front
Puerto Ricans in fancy cars
and behind despair – multiplied by hope
Every breath,
every loss
like a rope around my neck getting tighter
What shall I do?
Give up which one of my presents?
Clench upon which gnawed out teeth?
It’s tense and hard
Hard and swollen
like once the child inside me
that I flushed
And breathed again with hopelessness