Big Song

By | 5 December 2019

Under the bridge at Washington Street

a man with acoustic guitar

was plucking and singing again in Spanish

always only in Spanish

once I would have called him an old man

before I got old now no one is old

his voice amplifying thanks to the bridge

shivering off iron girders echoing concrete walls

becoming so huge as if through a megaphone

but sweeter rich and round giant sugar cookie

of a voice traveling to our side of the river

my three year old walking partner

twirled in place that sounds big

never asking why would a man be singing?

near our chattering ducks

who never lose hope we might one day

defy the signs and feed them

river reeds blooming yellow bells of Esperanza

only a few hours distance from camps of wire and concrete

thin mattresses aluminum foil sheets

sisters and brothers whose stories we can’t really know

whatever we think about them what happens next

how hard it has been

who is this man? so many years

singing in winter summer no cup beside him

not asking for anything people run past with their dogs

ears plugged their own music

I don’t know where he lives

secret stories under the bridge

all these years of echo

boy raising his arms

dipping and stepping

singer nodding his head

glad to be heard

raising one hand to both of us twirling

solamente por que?
siempre por que?

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