Jimmy Santiago Baca

(2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)

Jimmy Santiago Baca Poems

1. There Are Black 1/2/2012
2. V 1/2/2012
3. This Day 1/2/2012
4. Yesterday 1/2/2012
5. Tire Shop 10/11/2011
6. The County Jail 1/2/2012
7. Too Much Of A Good Thing 1/2/2012
8. What Is Broken Is What God Blesses 1/2/2012
9. Ix. Part 6 1/2/2012
10. It Would Be Neat If With The New Year 1/2/2012
11. Sanctuary 1/2/2012
12. Matanza To Welcome Spring 1/2/2012
13. Ten 1/2/2012
14. As Children Know 1/2/2012
15. From Violence To Peace 1/2/2012
16. Meditations On The South Valley, Part Xxiii 1/2/2012
17. El Gato 10/11/2011
18. Immigrants In Our Own Land 1/2/2012
19. Into Death Bravely 1/2/2012
20. Main Character 10/11/2011
21. Cloudy Day 1/2/2012
22. Listening To Jazz Now 1/2/2012
23. The Day Brushes It's Curtains Aside 1/3/2003
24. When Life 1/3/2003
25. The Blackbird 1/3/2003
26. To My Own Self 1/3/2003
27. Llano Vaqueros 1/3/2003
28. Old Woman 1/3/2003
29. Choices 1/3/2003
30. Ancestor 1/3/2003
31. As Life Was Five 1/3/2003
32. Oppression 1/3/2003
33. Count-Time 1/3/2003
34. Green Chile 1/3/2003
35. A Daily Joy To Be Alive 1/3/2003
36. Like An Animal 1/3/2003
37. I Am Offering This Poem 1/3/2003
38. Who Understands Me But Me 1/3/2003
Best Poem of Jimmy Santiago Baca

Who Understands Me But Me

They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treetops,
they paint the windows black, so I live without sunshine,
they lock my cage, so I live without going anywhere,
they take each last tear I have, I live without tears,
they take my heart and rip it open, I live without heart,
they take my life and crush it, so I live without a future,
they say I am beastly and fiendish, so I have no friends,
they stop up each hope, so I have no passage out of hell,
they give me pain, so I live with pain,
they give me hate, so I ...

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Green Chile

I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
dry on my roof, and hang from eaves.
They lend open-air vegetable stands
historical grandeur, and gently swing
with an air of festive welcome.
I can hear them talking in the wind,
haggard, yellowing, crisp, rasping

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