Felix Stefanile

(1920 / New York / United States)


Carmen, you were seven. You sought me after school,
just came alongside as I marched away,
and fcll in stride. I caught your side-long glances.
Beneath your bangs and spit-curls you were pale,
your dark eyes shimmered, you were all eyes.
You talked a blue streak for a stranger,
and I hardly answered. I was shy of words.
You said you were afraid of our old streets,
men shouting at trucks backing in and out

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