A Forbidden Picture

 

 I extended my thoughts towards him, the old man,

and I touched him with my breath.

I filled the air with my presence

as I inched closer to him

 

I took a picture of the silence inspired by

his maturity, of the little boy, once,

running in the fields.

 

I took a picture of the young man behind the

old man's costume, of that which he had been,

of that which now he wasn't

 

I took a forbidden picture of the texture

of his skin.  In each wrinkle a story,

in each gray hair... a sin.

 

An in my trembling hands,

the essense of his soul,

mixed with Cuban tobacco,

with sugar cane and coffee beans

With the aroma of the open fields

That tenderly I touched

 

When I took that picture

Of the silence, of the past.

Irma Luz Medina

 

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