Lost and Found
You are either lost or you are found.
I announce myself lost.
I pronounce myself found.
It is a game I play when I am
confused or unsure of what is
real or what is not real.
Look at me. Do you see more
than one of me, a lost fool
or one that was found after
exile from the physical world?
Tell me the truth. Do you believe
you could get lost only to be found?
Give me liquor, red wine, and
join me in my stargazing.
Who wants to get lost and
who wants to be found?
I renounce this nonsense.
I am not lost or found. I just am.
Coming Along
In second grade my English was coming
along because I had to learn every day.
People in my new city spoke English. In
my house we spoke English and Spanish.
I did the best I could to learn this language
that the people in the city spoke with ease.
It only took several months for me to learn
to read, write, and speak these foreign
words. In our apartment on Gage Street
there were seven of us. There would be
two more of us in seven years. But first
there was just seven of us in Los Angeles.
We got along well enough in a space too
small. There was not enough green to
split to a bigger place. We were one
happy family on Gage Street in my seven
year old mind. We were up on the seventh
floor. Later I was told we had it rough.
The rain would come through our roof
and inside our house, our apartment,
but I never called it that. I called it our house.
I can still remember the day I came
from Mexico. My older brother shared
his French fries with me. I walked to school.
I learned to speak English well.
Never A Time
There was never a time
I rode a real horse.
I never did shoot a real
gun like the Lone Ranger.
I was young man in Morelos,
the place where I was born.
I was one of two sons
and a third son was born in
eleven years. The years passed
when we played in the backyard
when our youth was real,
not even death could scare us.
One day that bastard would
come out of the shadows
absorbing one son, one brother,
when it was still too early.
Our crumbling home took us
into a deep loss and depression.
We were not ready to go gently
into the good night. Our home
relied on our love. Our home
was in shambles. Our home
relied on our love. We forged ahead
with life, never forgetting our brother.
Two brothers with broken hearts,
our sisters, our mother too; his family,
wife, children, and grandchild, every
tear shed. We had to grow up too fast.
The days seem like yesterday
every time we think of the son,
the brother lost. The days do
not get easier without him.
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