"Cain and Abel"
by Paloma
Another son to carry his name, this
man, of
immigrants, twice
blessed:
Hands reach to touch my face,
through the crib's bars.
Sounds from this baby mouth
I don't understand.
She brings in their jeans
from the clothesline.
Using her laundry bags
for bases:
Hold your bat straight,
watch when I throw.
Try, just try!
A light in the garage,
he stands in front of his father,
frail fists in front of his face:
In the attic, wait
for me,
I'll bring a towel
for your eye.
On the phone with Rose,
a tissue in
her hand, asking
what she did
wrong:
What's the matter with you?
Wise up, be careful.
He doesn't talk to the
neighbors, she eats
her supper
in her bedroom:
My hands reach
to touch your face,
through the jail bars.
Words from your mouth,
I don't understand.
I wish I did.