Primo Beto in 1955 – A Remembrance For my cousin, Beto Quintana, rest in peace In fifty-five you came to the outskirts, the field My chamomile, soft trailer, one door unsealed Angelic, Navy man, primo and one lone boy We played, assembled a jet, a lightning silver toy This is how you soar, a B-52, almost like a kite This is your might , you must paint it, honey-like Lift your heart, be divine, keep your eyes On each wing, propelling, one day you’ll rise This year a call, a song, out of the unknown We spoke stories, then silence on the phone Across deserts, dance halls, tuxedoes, smiles Tangos, kitchens, diamonds, suffering trials Yet, your visit remained a fountain, all filled I kept your sweetness, not alone or stilled We let go of the phone – we closed the door All was clear, no words, neither wanted more Clouds leave an opening in the crossing sky The soul leaps from the last room so it can fly Roberto, querido, primo Beto – you’ll never die --Juan Felipe Quintana Herrera May 14, 2014 Memoria when my primo Beto visited me in Escondido, Ca. 1955.
Posted on: Tue, 13 May 2014 22:09:43 +0000
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