The traffic vibrates my house and I am working inside
Here,
Each room a different color, but like a sorority of soft sea shells
Softly panting,
And buckets of rain in the quiet places where two roofs meet
And then are forgotten:
Alma is somewhere around here, pregnant and embarrassed on her
Buses:
I sat in Alma’s car a couple days ago while she kept a watch out for
Her husband,
And she asked me, why Robert, did the gringas look at her that way
Inside of her church:
Why Robert, she said my name, and there was a forest fire on
A mountain:
Alma was by my house this morning, and all of the windows turned
Brighter,
As she carried out her songs, and we studied for her citizenship:
I kissed her shoulder and then we drove away together, and I stopped
At the light and ran out, and Alma let me kiss her cheek:
And I think of the Virgin of Guadalupe and pray to her for
Alma in the deep and uncertain grottos of my very night.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem