Ray Gonzalez Poems

He walks to the other side of the room where two bare feet wait by the sofa. The toes move slightly as he approaches, but he hasn't recognized the ankles yet. He knows bare feet can be friendly or the worst enemies a quiet man can have. If the toenails are long and dirty, there is no chance. If they are trimmed and healthy, something will happen. He stands in front of the sofa and looks down at the waiting feet. The right toe curls a bit, then gets stiff in attention. The left toes suddenly point upward, then relax. If the room wasn't so dark, he could find out who the feet belong to. They don't look like a man's and might be a woman's, though the nails are not painted. He can't see above the ankles as if a pair of pants or long skirt are hiding the legs. He can't make out any sitting figure and wonders if it was difficult to get here barefoot, or if there are shoes hiding somewhere under the sofa. Did these feet think on their own and part ways with their owner? He fights the urge to bend down and kiss each ankle.
...

Given to me by my sister as a gift,
the tiny Indian doll stands with no arms.

Given to me so I can raise my hands
...

The volcano in my grandmother's Mexican village
smothered the town, though the girl escaped because
the axis of revolution sent her family into exile,
...

after Kees' 'Travels in North America'
1. Santa Fe

'The walls are old,' he says.
I turn in the plaza and nod to Weldon Kees,
...

For those who ran in the streets,
there were no faces to welcome them back.
José escaped and loved the war.
...

Kick in the heart.
Kick the starting lance.
Throw the ground a word and stand back.
The color of terror is the envy
...

on turning forty
They draw me closer like the hands
of one grandmother I kissed upon
visiting her in the barrio.
...

Awake in the desert to the sound of calling.
Must be the mountain, I thought.

The violent border, I assumed, though the boundary
line between the living and the dead was erased years ago.
...

I sit with my railroad face and ask God to forgive me
for being a straight line toward the dead
who were buried with their poor clothes
in the Arizona desert of iron borders.
...

Seven of them pinned in blood by
long, shiny tails, three of them still

alive and writhing against the wood,
...