Los Intocables de Mi Barrio

17 de octubre de 2008.

Las Gradas, Cristo Rey.

Los intocables de mi barrio.

Don´t touch us—
We mud children
Up to the neck in our own waste
Wallowing every night
In our own blood
That seeps out
From ugly purple bruises
Where we were hit
Again.

“Cristo Rey”
lindo nombre,
for a living hell,
where every day dawns
deadly
as we peer into empty ollas
as we empty our bowels
into the river where
we wash
as we comb more piojos
from our matted hair
as we peer into the broken glass
and trace “that” scar
with our dirty fingers.

We mud children—
Eyes brilliant with want,
Not love—
Hands full of mischief,
Not homework—
Hearts full of fear,
Not security.

Mother’s breast lasts only so long—
Her alcoholic, schizophrenic terror
Is more real.
Papi—quién sea--
there is a new man in our sala
Every night—
He is high and he is strong
And he beats us all
Before leaving his 500 colones
On the table.

We mud children.
Some of us playful—
Most of us naughty.
We were dandled on the knees
Of addiction and abuse.
We don’t know better—
When we grow up—if we grow up—
We’ll stay right here,
Because we know it—
And other places
Are worse.

Mami reza a la virgin—
Sometimes she listens—
Like today, when the
“chalecos rojos” huddled
at the top of these marvelous Gradas
and becan to descend,
bread in one hand,
café en the other.
They had nice works
In their mouths and eyes.
I felt scared—so many new faces—
But the dimpled cheeks, the sound
Of laughter
The familiar “padre nuestro”
Coaxed me from my earthy dwelling—
Coaxed us.
Like so many cockroaches
We came out—
Blinking in the morning light.
All of the sudden, we felt silly
With our yesterday’s clothes on.

But the smiles!
The real smiles—
Not the “ven acá so I can use you” smile.
They were “Dios te bendiga y te guarde” smiles.
Smiles that made me feel
Strangely peaceful—
But at the same time.
Deeply sorrowful.
“Peace—PAZ” tugged tears
from my bloodshot eyes.
I thought we had been forgotten...
We mud children,
Huddled in the dark
Against the million grasping, yanking, dark fingers
Pulling us under water were we suffocate on our own dreams.
Here
In the daylight
I cried.
Others crowded the Padre—
Hugged, kissed, genuinely loved—

I could only look at the floor
And remember
How painful last night was
Compared to this.