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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 4657 Registered: 11-1998 |
Poem of the Week The Stones Remember Lisa Cohen Before they formed a path for tourists’ feet, a thousand horses thundered in the square and splashed through this fountain on their way to the Alamo. Before the art galleries and painted t-shirts, tempers and passions ruled here. Their hands raised a church, struck a man, loved a woman. Death and life are bound tightly to this place. I feel its power; cold fingers on my spine. I am none of you, I cry. Not Mexican, not Indian, not settler. My ancestors fled Russia and Poland, sailing their hopes to New York City. They never kicked up dust in this disputed town. And yet, you haunt me. I cannot escape into the air-conditioned shops where the merchants are all bilingual and they fight only for my dollar. I will take your fierce sadness with me. Memory, the only coin the dead can trade in. |
