for Pat and Victorio
Spread eagle sheep legs wide,
wire hooves to shed beams,
and sink blade in
I see Senora Sanchez
along the river.
pop the silver
Is a question of strength,
of unshed tears,
of being trampled under,
and always, always,
They turn the water off, so I live without water,
they build walls higher, so I live without treeto
I prefer red chile over my eggs
and potatoes for breakfast.
Red chile ristras decorate my door,
We are born with dreams in our hearts,
looking for better days ahead.
At the gates we are given ne
to a dark stage.
I lie there awake in my prison bunk,
in the eye-catching silence
of prison night
There are black guards slamming cell gates
on black men,
And brown guards saying hello to brown me
No matter how serene things
may be in my life,
how well things are going,
my body and soul
Cattle cars in the downtown freightyard
squeal and groan, and sizzling grills
Men late at night cook coffee in rusty cans,
just like in the hills, like in their childhoods,
I went down yesterday
to fix a leak in my tire. Off Bridge street
there's a place 95 cents
I could not disengage my world
from the rest of humanity.
Wind chill factor 11° below
Listening to jazz now, I'm happy
sun shining outside like it was my lifetime achievement awa
Pancho, the barrio idiot.
Rumor is that una bruja from Bernalillo
le embrujo. Unshaven, chattering
I went to see
How the West Was Won
at the Sunshine Theater.
Five years old,
deep in a plush seat
Padilla unloads mangy herd of Mexican
cattle in the field.
Meaner, horns long and sharp
behave yourself you always said to me.
I behaved myself
when others were warm in wi
If it does not feed the fire
of your creativity, then leave it.
If people and things do not
Snow’s been melting too soon—
passing the Río Grande every day, I note
water level is high,
I feel foolish,
like those silly robins jumping on the ditch boughs
when I run by them.
Elm branches radiate green heat,
blackbirds stiffly strut across fields.
Beneath bedroom wood floo
I am offering this poem to you,
since I have nothing else to give.
Keep it like a warm coat,
The lover's footprint in the sand
the ten-year-old kid's bare feet
in the mud picking chili for ri
It is windy today. A wall of wind crashes against,
windows clunk against, iron frames
as wind swin
The blackbird sits
On a bronchial limb
Squeal his guts
Jimmy Santiago Baca
We bought a small house
along the river, in Southside barrio.
A shack I pried boards from the fron
Is cut close, blades and bones,
And the stench of sewers is everywhere,
An acquaintance at Los Alamos Labs
who engineers weapons
black x’d a mark where I live
on his o
It was a time when they were afraid of him.
My father, a bare man, a gypsy, a horse
with broken kn