[Poem and painting by Sergio Ortiz]
Miguel Angel’s memories haunt him
like a baggage car that does not quite fit.
But let’s talk about his voice,
somewhat faded by the years,
as if words were spying on him.
As if there were no throat
only the spoils of a race war
hidden somewhere in the towers
of New York City.
He talks about his mother
who is in her 90’s and lives
on the beaches of Rincon.
Talks about the wife
and grandchild he’s left behind.
Suddenly, death is him
and this is the ferry’s last stop.
Miguel Angel from nowhere
the world becomes numerous,
but the cold keeps its stories.