traveled from hands to hands
and arrived here,
in an antique store;
a display of a turbulent past,
on yellow pages, where
a downpour of thoughts had fallen
and a roar of raging words—
after almost fifty years,
by a red price tag.
The building is closed;
The cafe we used to go to is closed;
7-11 is closed,
Nobody goes there anymore;
No bells will toll,
the chapel has been quiet for a century.
Only a woman with sand-colored hair walks by,
and wipes her eyes with a dirty handkerchief.
We are outside in the yard, trying to figure out
the scorching silence
in this big city.
On the walls that surround us,
red characters are minacious and ready to lash us away
– red characters crying destruction.