Rojos Poem by Romella Kitchens

Night dies.
The oracular “if, ” the universe
before it.
The Mexicans make figures with
nails in them.

Exacting torment.

Red, I will remember you.
How you chased a white rooster through
the street.

The dust caked your shoes.
Then, the rooster disappeared, became
a ghost.

The ghost of hunger sleeping
on floors.
Houses without people in them, rents
too high.
Night stops breathing.
Cross yourself into daylight.