Didn't leave immediately one way or another...they were going to kill him. I picked him up. Walked
Up that humid hot stretch of pavement , leading to the safe zone.
Check ins , double locks, security pass .
He looked unfamiliar, red as beets beaten to a pulp
Swollen eyes that I still loved , cheeks that had cried & dried
Up the crazy river ....catch the blue trolley
It would take him a whole day to reach his appointments
When the old building was not torn down, he would wait.
I would wait..the river gives up her bread and wafers to those
Who antepasados cultivated this land.
"Can she really feed us" asks Emilio, thin frail son of Mateo
At nine years old, he knows the situation was grave and he's starving
For attention ...meaning really to say 'can she really help us?'
His mom needed her son back , with his son. It was the only option
Send them back to Florida. Would it happen?
Short stories, AND THE FISH FLOATED ON.
written by Agosto Cuellar. all rights reserved 2014.
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