A little girl sells flowers
For her mother
To the lovers
En la plaza
With birthmarks like raindrops
On her cheeks
And moon-sun eyes
That speak in simple tongues,
And tears that water crops for weeks.
And I, too weak
To say no to this angel,
Give her two pesos
And say Mi amor,
I have no one here,
Por favor, plant this flower where it might grow.
And as I go
She giggles and squeaks:
Senior, you talk in words I cannot speak.
And I smile with ease
And whisper Si,
I am a stranger to these streets.
Burlesque Press 