Host: Paco Marquez
SING FOR YOUR SUPPER
What if singing
was how you earned your living—
each day, year after year.
The sky above you is blue.
Clouds billow like white dresses.
They are yours
though you do not own them.
Your voice flickers
like a pinwheel of color.
Old uncle has his tune,
as do your sisters and cousins.
Every answer has its question.
Songs, little melodies,
are your job,
for which you never
earn any money.
You live in a house
in a tree.
Rarely do your feet
touch the ground.
Imagine.
Patrice Vecchione
Penumbra
In the silver silence,
there is so much said
we sit in our seats
outside
listening to crickets,
contemplating
the hues of the
twilight,
the infinite
universe
made up of filament ,
the endless
sky.
Our words
fail us,
fears bristle
as shadows consume
our reflections,
our aching souls
shudder
in recognition,
we are
father,son.
Our hearts sigh
knowing we are
set in our ways,
swallowed
sorrows linger
in yesterdays
embrace.
Intertwined
emotions have
taken root in
the dark soil ,
untended weeds
have grown,
words have
betrayed us.
Love, soaked
In black and white,
sometimes
shared moments
are enough.
Nancy Aíde González
