40 Peace Doves
I dreamt of 40 peace dovesgrowing out of my brother's handsa poor barrio boywhose fingers glowed with peacea human bird feedersoothing collecting humanity's despairbreathing hope of salvationinto lives of our genteI wake up to a symphony of birdsmy mind glows with sweet memoriesof my brother's borrowed peacea boy who lost his life in Viet Namtoday on the eve of my birthdaymy world is blooming withhis peace / hope.
I Don't Speak English
His barrel chest collapsedholding his onceradiant hopeful hearthe the young warriorreturning from World War IIhis hands still burningfrom holding her tiny waisttwirling around the dance hallin a dusty border town.War buddies called him, "Chief"now he was weak / his knees buckledstaring into her blue eyessparkling like starsdreaming of waking up every daystroking her soft blond curlshe wooed her with his best Englishhoping it didn't sound too brokenwhen the final dance was overnervously she told him"Perdon, pero no hablo ingles."I don't speak Englishhe didn't know she hadalready fallen in lovewith his jet black eyes / hisvelvet bronze skindreaming of the brown childrenshe had always wanted.