Joenys Carrasquillo

“Art” speak of art they say.

One word, Art and my heart says,

“Come!“

“Come!”

“This way!”

I look for you, then there YOU are.

Each robust muscle is a mountain you have overcome,

Each rippling vein a river you have crossed,

and each feature is one men and women have loved.

Why are those hands cutaway?

Hands that shot arrows that made the eyes of men green,

the color stolen from that trunk that hasbeen.

So naked so exposed.

One full of life

the other good as dead.

Bare, stripped down,

the enemy slithering its leg.

Look, look back I say!

Behind you the python lays,

but you keep looking away...

Are your hands cut from the python that you slayed?

Those fingers nowhere in sight,

Where is your harp?

The one that you love to play?

You little song

do those fine full lips of yours still hum?

“Art” speak of art they say.

I thought of you, what better way?

The son of art, this is you

this is your other part.

Bare, stripped down.

A robe so heavy by its intricate folds

Rests on your shoulders as if crowning you for

Each mountain you have overcome,

Each river you have crossed,

and each arrow you have shot.

You stand so tall,

You stand so proud-

And yet!

HE is but a star.

Those missing pieces,

those eyes that look away.

You knew what would come so you didn't stay.

The songs that would follow,

the hearts that would be loved,

the green that would lay on those yellow locks.

The son of what I hear,

The son of what I write,

You look away, but I look at you now.

I look at you and I also stand proud.

“Art” speak of art they say.

“Why?”

Just let it be day.

Look up and let HIM play,

Hear of the sacrifices HE made,

No hands?

Just hum,

Now HE is but a son.