image Poetry of Kent Foreman


Para Los Latinos (and Federico Garcia Lorca)


“Mira, ese!” “Oiganme todo el mundo”
Aye, Puerto Rico. . . Aye, Cuba. . . Aye Panama, Aye El Salvador, Ay Mexico”

. . . Well, Welcome to the ghettos, baby
                                to  the festering death, like the Cancer
                                     that terrifies gringos
                                                            And Lorca

Bring with you your anger on Saturday Nights
             And your beautiful children,
                        their great eyes full of wonder
                        that hunger for learning
I understand, young man, with your outraged confusion
                        that smolders upon corners.  

Go to the Walls
            with your anguish!
                        Bear witness to furrows
                        my fingernails screamed
                                    in their bleedings.
. . .Mira

            To the walls where the prayers are called
                        by the mothers, in sibilant Spanish.
            To the walls where the prayers are scrawled
                        With paint cans, in curse words.

 . . . Mira. . . , Mira. . .  Mira. . .

Sleep on, in the dungeons  that smell of
                                                that tell of
                                                            the vomit of urchins
                                                                         and derelicts
                                                                                    and rodents
                                                                        that nibble at infants.

Welcome, Friends,
Welcome to the roaches that molder like raisins
                                    In repossessed pantries.
Then come you hunt in the valleys,
                                  in the alleys that glitter,
                                                       that litter of shadowed amnesia containers.


Bring the girls
            who are ravishing women
                        so early
                                                To the walls of the tenement  canyons
                                                that even the exiles deserted.


Bring them all to the walls where I live.
I harbor but few harmless hatreds.


Welcome, Baby.
Welcome home.