for Federico Garcia Lorca, from a boy who leaves the balcony open.
I will not forgive you, Federico Lorca
For writing “If I die/ Leave the balcony open”
Not “If I die/ Open the balcony”
and making me unable
to doubt, to deny, to ask:
“Why didn’t he open the balcony
When he was alive, and let
the sun and the sweet breeze in.”
I will not forgive you, Federico Lorca
For the burning hills of Andalusia
at the time of the sunset
the silver thighs, the arches of Elvira
and the billion waltzing hearts in your poems
Guiding this little poet wanna-be as he tries
to learn how to walk within poetry.
I will not forgive you, Federico Lorca
For not jumping on a black steed
From one of your ballads
And flying away, like the night
as Sun awakes in the East,
When La Guerra Civil
came to kill you.
