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
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
that nibble at infants.
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
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.