Jimmy Santiago Baca
Jimmy Santiago Baca Poems
|2.||Who Understands Me But Me||1/3/2003|
|4.||What is Broken is What God Blesses||1/2/2012|
|6.||Too Much of a Good Thing||1/2/2012|
|7.||To My Own Self||1/3/2003|
|10.||There Are Black||1/2/2012|
|11.||The Day Brushes It's Curtains Aside||1/3/2003|
|12.||The County Jail||1/2/2012|
|18.||Meditations on the South Valley, Part XXIII||1/2/2012|
|19.||Matanza to Welcome Spring||1/2/2012|
It was a time when they were afraid of him.
My father, a bare man, a gypsy, a horse
with broken knees no one would shoot.
Then again, he was like the orange tree,
and young women plucked from him sweet fruit.
To meet him, you must be in the right place,
even his sons and daughter, we wondered
where was papa now and what was he doing.
He held the mystique of travelers