ANGLO RAIN

ANGLO RAIN

Ricardo Antonio Garcia

Anglo rain against a blue sky

Irish women run nude on the grazed grass

as a painter paints them.

Courtly men in their fine dress promenade

around the artists shoulder

streaking magnificent color across the canvas

and into a Universe that is now dead.

All are deceased

and the cognitive memory persists

as we re-invent the moment.

The taste and smell of their bodies are

the same as they are now.

Masked behind each voice is a personality

consumed by time and the ogre of age.

Vibrant as most personalities are rung

the bell of their housing

is the woman admired by the men.

Anglo rain against the flesh

Irish slave women also danced on the grass

alluring their owners.

Intelligence outspoken, they were wife’d

creating the mulatto child.

That child, my Mothers distanced Mother

fret with disparity.

Anglo rain, on a hot summers day

still imprisoned those who were not free.

Glass plate photograph

where did I find you in the attic, as I

searched for other things?

Masked in time I have brought you back to life

and does memory eternally live on?

In my blood is the blood of my ancestors

and here they are back in a cart

transporting the wanton love of yesterday

like an affair of the past.

The fine dresses and perfume eludes perfection

but nothing more than an owners vice.

Dickens, has your mind wondered about them

or have we come to a crossroad?

The Court dominates the child of suffrage

gasping for breathe through an open window

whose facade can they be?

Illusionary rain transversing time around

the pinching and unnerving prickles astound

awakening the slave inside of me, and

have I unmasked the silence of the sound?

The frolicking laughter

is nothing but a chase eluding to an end …