USA

grimcs@aol.com 

Brooklyn, May 19th

I'm standing on the roof
in the freezing drizzle of 
Brooklyn dusk; May 19th.

Flicking my cigarette butt
towards a small puddle,
gauging the success of my future
on whether or not my aim is correct.

I watch it land alongside 
the rippling water,
the wind gently tugging
then tossing the butt
in the wrong direction.

Someone screams the name Roberto 
from down below.
I clutch my rabbit fur coat
with a frozen hand
and enter through the warm doorway
of my lonely ghetto apartment,
tracing love's footsteps 
from a few days before.

Days, weeks, blend and melt away.
A flickering voice
forces it's way through time.
Two seconds of laughter,
a lifetime of heartache.

Hollow images adorn the walls.
Snapshots line the drawers of my desk.
The dirty windows reveal nothing - 
the grimy walls protect no one.
The neighbors child pounds the floor
and screams
while her brother promises in Spanish
that daddy will return soon.

My only comfort today 
is this warm cup of coffee
and this rotten cigarette
which I can't even shoot straight.

Bodega Dreams

A cat crawls out from beneath
boxes that are overpriced 
for people who are underpaid and proud.
I am not proud.
I've walked in for a box of cereal-
some milk and bananas.
Stopping to pet the poor orange cat,
I notice he suffers from nerves.
Every footstep,
every sound,
causes him to twitch.
I understand this cat very well.
I hear them talk about 
the American girl
y el gato.
They talk in Spanish
but I understand them
because I am half Cubanish.
I am proud of what no one knows;
whatever that means to people
who care about such things.
The cat doesn't care about such things - 
he just wants to be held.
I understand that too.
I woke up this morning 
with ghosts in my bed.
Loving arms gently wrapped around memory;
I am not alone this morning at breakfast
eating raisin bran without the banana
I couldn't afford to buy yesterday.
Yesterday 
it was cold and I was in love.
Yesterday nothing mattered.
The city is heating up
like the engines of a jet plane
as I cool down and
force myself to the future.
Well, at least the present.
Presently, I am falling asleep
while wondering if they sell
raisin bran across the Atlantic,
or bananas for that matter.

© Copyright,  Christiane Grimal.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.