Its windy outside
just the way the rattling trash cans like it.
A pen rolls off the table,
onto the floor.
The noise startles me.
But it’s not about fear.
Just the dubious nature of my life here.
Mice scamper through the walls.
Spiders crisscross the ceiling.
Shadows steal half the floor,
then my leg up to the knee.
A friend I have not seen in years
appears to me in this kitchen
of all places.
It’s amazing how creative
light and dust can get
when they have my memories
as a model.
But, of course, it will be totally dark soon.
She cannot stay.
I’m reading a book in English.
I feel proud of that for some reason.
But it makes me a little less Dominican
and no more American than I was before.
Then my neighbor from the apartment below
knocks on my door.
She says she thought
she heard somebody home.
That’s not altogether encouraging
but it’s a start.
By Juanita Rey
Juanita Rey: I am a Dominican poet who has been in this country five years. I have worked many jobs while studying to improve my English. I have been writing for a number of years but only recently have begun to take it seriously. My work has been accepted by Pennsylvania English, Harbinger Asylum, Yellow Chair Review and Madcap Poets.