Network Aztlan Latino Chicano Comunidades Transnacionales

In 1958 / 1989

by Jose Garza

I.

In 1958

a teenager

I was in love

with your trust

left solely in charge

of the circulation desk

before computers,

fancy book check-out machines;

standing there without

emperors clothing 

in the shadow of your light.

In 1989

somehow you found

my phone number

to congradulate me

on the writers award;

I regretted not saying to you

how often I have thought of you;

recalling the light in your eyes

and I, having taken

the long way

home.
 

II.

Sullen space station viewed from afar,

this full moonlight night held tight

in the embrace of descending

Texas summertime stars, Heart of Sky

protects the fragile luminosity inside.

I close my eyes that I may see again

another teenage summer vacation slipping away,

a child's kite caught in telephone wires,

dangling in the wind, rag tail shredded,

can no longer stabilize the dance quietly

inside the closed bedroom window.  Ribbed

writing desk, neat self contained walnut

stained compartments hold reasonable dreams;

writing implements, ink, paper, colored pencils,

a ruler with which to draw yellow brick road

bee-line out of the housing projects, I was an

indentured servant to my ever faithful

self explanatory dictionary turning each page

deliberately, a game of chance to random selections,

a juke box-full of Zenith radio number one rock 'n roll

hits, that new music craze. Into the Kingdom of Nerd

onto the Plain of Maladroit I rode full stead.

1 cap a : spicy caldo de res with huge islands

of potato, beefy bone colossus, cabbage donkey ears,

onion, celery, and carrot. Chubby enchilada tortillas

de maiz cooked in real time red chile sauce bulging

with goat's milk cheese, lettuce and tomato. Hearty

crisp corn tortilla beef tacos llenos con lechuga y

revanadas frescas de cebolla I am cooking

imaginary midnight rich, thick, saucy words

reveal their nocturnal lives, yellow bulldozers

roll off the tongue;  bombastic

                              afro-desiac

                               manifestations,

                               roley-poley chump

                               be for real.

                                 Guffaw,

                                 faux paux,

                                 arf!

                                 acapulco

                                 cum quat

                                 ahoy.

Busca-rido pachucona be my love.

One day

on discovery

of the New World resident barrio

revolutionist chingon Ramon Hernandez, Keeper

of the People's History, catrin he-dog he said,

"words are fine carnal but you spend too much

time alone ese, even hostiles know the secret lies

in the movement of the barrio. You say you

want to see some action?  Pues vamonos!"

danza al sol

wild imagination

I do know we cannot surrender

to fear or intimidation, a newly freed

Spirit will not return to its former

sheltered self, cannot any longer indulge

in wishful thinking the world is much

broader and we are worth much more

that, I am not an indio ladino.

I do not wear my hair long for your approval.

I am not a 1960's hippie love child survivor, nor

a master gangster with a druggie Baby doggie.

Because I-ah-speak-ah- the english

or often be bop my way through this

my personal lifetime, it does not negate

the lessons I learned from the fabric of familia;

el tonal, the tone,

de los tiempos, of the times,

through the blood of ancestry,

the long hair of tradition,

the baggy fit of clothing, no more

blameful thoughts for past indescretions

or false nomenclature, I go by many aliases.

Each day is a brand new day.

A stoic pen mark

transparent, a thin

manueverable paint brush

stroke, when the mood

is light, near perfection

with a smooth satin sheen.

c. Aztatl, 2007