the old one

wises up

fastens his gaze

squatting

in a confinement

that is lower than a basement

in a cell that is low ceilinged

buried in deep comtemplation

remembering

his hometown in the bronx

the place that when he was a kid

use to watch his favorite team

sitting in the 1st aisle 

behind the catcher

he lost the smell of life

on his back

he carries a tattoo

that is a representation

of a heavy bundle of sorrows and cries

weeping asking why

his flesh 

scorches by the fire of external exile

he can hear and feel

the love songs

emanating from his mother breasts

asking when he is coming home

memory

memory, steel trap memories

fond memories of how we would've been 

the greatest athlete since robert clemente

but instead

all that was recall

was the day he lost his freedom

harvest day

a good day for traveling

a great day

hoping he can live like a normal man

he can see the sky is once again blue

at one time, only color he saw was grey

that casts thunderous voices 

of constant reminders on

poor choices after poor choices

its been 19 yrs and 11 months

the old one

wises up

says his morning prayers

in hoping he finds his home