Featured Artwork: Adrian Delgado
We used to rent out the basement in my house.
There, through the golden columns and bronze pyramids of despair and dreams
they strode in.
The pearl painted chippings of lands that once were laid
at their feet.
Underneath their soles were eternities of ancestors waiting
for their return. They carried their feasts in the ten-dollar 7-11 lunch boxes
they bought with their first paycheck.
Their robes and armor; their skin and tools.
Their songs and dances; their language and laughter.
Their power and strength; themselves.
Their names and tongues; theirs.
He strode in with crackled hands and muddy boots that smelled
of his daughter’s college tuition.
She waltzed in with hair clippings on her gown and hairdryer wires wrapped around her wrist like bangled bronze bracelets.
He breezed in with the buckets of red roses floating onto the broken floor fit
for the entrance of his goddess.
She entered past the columns and pyramids last, still cleaning up the mess that was left behind; still saturated in the expensive fragrances of Fabuloso — the purple one, of course.
… tia, tio,
prima, primo …
There, through the bronzed columns of a two-story pyramid in the middle of the ever-reminiscent city, they entered retiring to their thrones.
Washing away the words they did not understand (today)
the pain on the bottoms of their feet
the ache in their backs
the scars on their hearts
and the masks of the day.
I would watch them enter every day at dinner time.
Descending past the tacky walls and fractured floors.
Amazed at the gods and goddesses that served me.