CREED

I soared across the sky to peer

down at you all.

Each flap bringing me closer—

your idea of heaven.

No. I don’t believe.

My prayer’s sheet of ice

scrutinized

by unforgiving heat.

Now my words are air.

Without remorse I compose—

hold you inside me.

Saints are sliced in four.

I sing the rhythm of their days.

Spirits endures, soft

as a kiss, calling

us to a chorus, to convene

antepasados en el desierto.*

To swallow what they teach.

From “After Rubén: Poems and Prose” by Francisco Aragón

(*Our forebears in the desert)

What would become of prose if poetry did not exist? It would be as hard to swallow as a large rugged pill.  Francisco Aragón’s poems capture explosions of feelings that surface from his soul like bubbles from deep water. Of Nicaraguan ancestry, Aragón exhibits his admiration for the most celebrated poet from his motherland, Ruben Dario (1867-1916), a giant of the Spanish-speaking literature.  Aragón has moved beyond his teachings.  The American author graces the English language with the use of dazzling words whose placement in his writings bejewels poetry and prose:

No. I don’t believe.

My prayer’s sheet of ice

scrutinized

by unforgiving heat.

Now my words are air.