small brown hands

There was a white face

that spoke on the T.V.

He said the brown

small faces,

taken from their

brown mothers as
their brown hands reach-

were being sent 

to the equivalent of 

a Summer Camp.

Summer Camp
like the ones named
after the red faces
killed off long ago
by the great great great
fathers of white faces

Summer Camp
with

Small brown hands
making leather wallets

arts and crafts

(glitter and beads)
first kisses

canoeing on sleepy lakes

singing by campfire.

yes white face this is a camp.

sexual assault
illness
death

this is that kind of camp-

killing something inside them

some will never have words for

small brown hands always reaching-

until they close shut.

small brown hands in fists
they will carry for life

Electro Boy vs La Paleta

Paleta /pa*let*a/  1.Spanish word for wooden paddle shaped stirrer or spatula used in cooking. 2. Spanish word for ice Popsicle made of fruit. 
(For the purposes of this written work, the first definition is appropriate)



As a young boy,
I would get into trouble around the apartment
while my mother would cook in the kitchen.

One time,
I was foolin' around the wall socket.
And to my surprise, I felt the jolt run through
my tiny body.

I must have cried out because,
my mother,
came from the kitchen
with a wooden paleta in her hand
to administer Guatemalan Justice.

(perhaps for messing with the wall socket
 or something else.
 I don't remember...)

But, what I do remember...
is the paleta broke.

Based on my then child genius powers of deduction,
I had concluded that the electricity had
granted me
Super Powers.

Powers beyond my wildest imagination.
and those days,
I had quite a wild one.

I was the Extraordinary Electro Boy-

Indestructible,
and
most importantly
Paleta proof.

I believed this.

But curiosity killed the
Electro Boy.

I asked my mother,
if electricity made you strong.

"No." she said.
"The paleta was just old and worn."

Needless to say,
I was shocked!

Disappointed to
no longer be
the Extraordinary Electro Boy-

My mother would,
replace the once defeated paleta.

She would continue to
stir meal after meal for
me.

Frijole Negro in a pot.

For Breakfast
For Dinner
For My Birthday

She would stir meal after
meal for me.

Extraordinary-
Indestructible-
Paleta Proof...
No.

Instead I became
strong,
(from boy to man)
raised on
black beans and tortillas.

(and the occasional paleta
smack down
to make you good as well as strong.)

The Paleta always wins,
one way or another.