The oracular “if, ” the universe
The Mexicans make figures with
nails in them.
Red, I will remember you.
How you chased a white rooster through
The dust caked your shoes.
Then, the rooster disappeared, became
The ghost of hunger sleeping
Houses without people in them, rents
Night stops breathing.
Cross yourself into daylight.
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Comments about this poem (Rojos by Romella Kitchens )
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