Jimmy Santiago Baca (2 January 1952 / Santa Fe, New Mexico)
Poems of Jimmy Santiago Baca
|21.||Meditations on the South Valley, Part XXIII||1/2/2012|
|27.||The County Jail||1/2/2012|
|28.||The Day Brushes It's Curtains Aside||1/3/2003|
|29.||There Are Black||1/2/2012|
|32.||To My Own Self||1/3/2003|
|33.||Too Much of a Good Thing||1/2/2012|
|35.||What is Broken is What God Blesses||1/2/2012|
|37.||Who Understands Me But Me||1/3/2003|
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