It’s déjà vu late in the night. It’s difficult to keep my
eyes open.
I’m bleeding out words. I have close up this account.
I died in 1993 after the bombing of the WTC.
I was held down on the floors of higher education and beaten
on the back of my head. I had much to live for in the moment I met a painter
who wanted to marry me. Her love made me feel like a tourist on a honeymoon in
a city I saw through her bright spirit.
Her birthday is 9/11.
Before a final
explosion took away memories, I experienced a phenomenon of reliving life in a
blink of an eye. I’m a schoolboy again
who carried Ann Frank in his arms while shadows of burnt-out buildings and
bullies fell over us in The South Bronx of America.
I found A Winkle In
Time.
I read The Illustrated Man by Ray Bradbury.
I loved reading at night in my bunk bed near cloud white
ceiling.
I loved bringing to life King Arthur and his knights because
the end of a righteous realm was scary to my idealistic childhood. Be a man for
God’s sake. Get a life, I was told, before
it’s too late. Stop crying over what could have been and grow up already.
I learned everyone has his or her time to tell a story.
I’m not telling my story in a New York minute to you as much
as I have to rehearse what to say before God and angels or extraterrestrials or
to my own self be true.
It was time to let go of my homelessness and move away a
winter of inhumanity.
I was sick of staring at the silent funeral parlor across an
empty street.
I was weary of waiting for miracle to change history for the
best.
The End begins a memory of a bedroom and fireflies of Saint
Mary’s Park, a former home of a Founding Father who wrote the words We, The
People.
I’m home in my Wonder Years. I’m home with family.
There’s my pillow.
Time to sleep.
”May God bless everyone of you on the good green Earth” said
an astronaut across all distances of time and space to future readers. Thank
you for bringing us to life to tell our stories to children of all ages at
libraries in centuries to come. From the boy I was in Camelot once upon a time,
good will and peace to all on Earth.
Have a good night among mysterious fireflies.
Murals For Ourselves In The South Bronx of America by Daniel
Angel Aponte
In memory of my little brother, Alvin, and children taken
before their time
Dreams are never forgotten in The City That Never Sleeps.
Copyrighted 2014
Arigato to Grave of The Fireflies
I remember grief.
