Jesús Papoleto Meléndez

spring came / the same way winter left & summer will come & summer will leave;        slowly / when no one's expecting it when people are tired of waiting like waiting for welfare checks / a long wait/             a slow wait the windows are open but butterflies don't fly in to display a sense of love / only housefly enter to sit on food       &eat crumbs & dreams escape / & become stolen      & lost      & used & wasted        & thrown away & dreamed anew the junkies sit on the stoop & nod themselves into dreams / maybe into the ones which escaped & stinkball is played & on warm nights        the ghetto musicians play our ghetto song on garbage can tops         & bang on empty coke bottles & sound real ch é vere :tomorrow the junkies will sit on the stoop & nod themselves into dreams / stickball will be played / the streets will become chalked with 1st and 2nd & 3rd bases hop scotch will become a game & tops will spin on sidewalks / & everyone will anticipate summer.

sometimes ( when the night air feels ch é vere! ) when i can hear the real sound of el barrio on la conga        y timbales coke bottles & garbage can tops when i can feel & reallyreally touch la m ú sica Latina /     africana & the fingerpoppin' soul emergin from tears /     sweet tears of laughter & i can feel a conglomeration of vibrations / heat waves body waves people waves of real gente

Home; a place to rest your feet, a place where you can sleep. Man, a place where you can shit, and no one can complain. My Home /el barrio where people rest their feet outside on the fire escapes, where i have a place to sleep with my brothers, sisters, cousins oh yes, and Rover all in the same bed. / where no can smell shit 'cause we've been living in it all our lives (we're immune to its stink) My home; where on hot summer days people gather on the grandstands / the fire escapes and in the box seats/ the stoops and cheer our home gang's stickball team (they call themselves "the new york junkies"). and on those cool summer evenings we hang our legs from the windows / the roofs /      the fire escapes while eating pop corn and sippin coke / or snorting it   / shooting it and watch the Saturday evening gang-fights. yes, this is home /      our paradises and you're always welcomed as long as you're poor. and it was here       / in my home that a butterfly happened to wing by he was easily spotted as a UFO because of all his beautiful colors he flew over the buildings / through the lots / around home plate      a sewer top in the middle of the street he flew in his dance about manner. and i almost cried when i saw children reaching reaching out for him      reaching for hope for love / for that lost dream and he continued dancing /     or maybe flying away away to save his beauty from these love-hungry children he flew        he flew and i cried when he fell down the sewer / now he was part of us.

& as you bow your heads to pray /      pray a silent prayer around a chicken who lies motionless before your hungry eyes /     dead dead as your dreams /      as your hopes / dead as that silent prayer that dies more & more each day / that no ears will ever share that that dead chicken      / which you in your shame dare to call a turkey will never hear not that god /    lost in the heavens eating real turkey who to you now pray for blessings will never hear / i wish you a happy thanksgiving. & as you bow your heads to pray /      pray a silent prayer for the little boy who dances in the snow / barefooted he loves to greet new falling snow & has no shoes & hopes that santa on christmas eve will slide down the chimney of his tenement slum & in his stockings which he has hung by the fire escape / o so carefully as not to tear them any more will find them filled with little hopes & tiny dreams & beneath that narrow leaf       / which he in his shame dares call a tree / a christmas tree santa will leave toys of wooden soldiers & plastic dolls filled with love for him and his ( & does not know that santa nods on roofs & climbs on fire escapes & snatches pocket-books / & leaves no wooden soldiers or plastic dolls filled with love for him & his beneath his narrow leaf) / i wish him a merry christmas. & as you bow your heads to pray /      pray please pray a silent prayer for the poor old woman who sits by the stove / to keep warm as she looks out her window / watching the falling snow & for the numbers' man / she waits       / waits silently for steam to rush through rusty pipes / for santa to stop his nodding for you to stop your prayer /      open your eyes & boooooooo away the mouse that nibbles on your chicken ( there are too many prayers that need be prayed for all/     all to be done at just one meal) & waits /       she silendy waits for god to hear your prayers / after dinner / / i wish her a happy new year.