Father’s childhood

(San Antonio, Texas, circa 1929)

By Gabriel A. Fraire

Alone on the bench

Sunday dressed

All the other children have visitors

Grandma would keep dad for a while

And leave him for a while

But never visit

Sunday being hard

Saturday night being so easy

He didn’t expect a visit

But wished the nuns would stop

making him Sunday dress

To sit alone on the bench

          ******************

If you’re Brown ya gotta prove it

(East Chicago, Ind. Circa 1938)

Uncle Joe was arrested

for forgetting his wallet

while walking the street

late at night

coming from his shift in the mills

born in the USA

not good enough,

if you’re brown

ya gotta prove it

not allowed a call

no one knew

he got deported

many months later

he returned

then got drafted

sent to war

and killed

he doesn’t have to prove it anymore

           ******************

The Perfect Flour Tortilla

 By Gabriel A. Fraire

Less than four years old

Standing on a chair

Tiny tummy leaning

    into the counter

hands on pin

rolling dough balls

into flour tortillas

It is all black and white

Grandma by my side

With her faded flower apron

Short greying hair, eye glasses

Scowl on her face

She snapped orders

For the few things she did not do herself

Never once did she say,

“I love you.”

But I felt it in those hands

That cupped mine

As she showed me how

To knead

and roll

The perfect flour tortilla

              ***********************

Equals until…

By Gabriel A. Fraire

I was the only Brown face

in an all  White school

we were equals

until puberty

when the White girl said,

“I’d love to date you.

But don’t come by the house

I’ll meet you in the theater.”

           *************************

First Grade

(Gary, Ind. 1953)

The Teacher slapped me

The Class sat stunned silent

Then she screamed

“Do you have tacos in your ears?”

The Class laughed, wildly

I had written the letter “M” backwards