ROMANCE NUEVO MEXICANO
The last dance on Bayita Lane
was like the fading night
blooming cerus' memory, like
the hothouse uprooted, replaced
by cheap cane furniture
bent by dumb hands. You see
I had to steal something
of that flower to locate
my stupid fate--there was Tom
who ate only greenleaf salad
because of the Haldol he was taking.
And whether you remember me or not
sitting with a teak bowl
of upturned ashes on my head,
there was brood in my eyes then
and like a spider I made something else
of your habits, your gestures,
the small white hands tearing
bits of paper where ever we went--
leaving trails from napkins, sugar
packets, any marker to lead you back
beyond the nervousness of your present task.
Copyright © Albino Carrillo, 2004. All Rights Reserved.