Prayer for Brightwood By. Abraham Bienvenido Henderson

mama always said
take your time young man
mama always said
you gotta get young to get old
mama always said
money comes and goes
mama she don't know...

that there are streets
calling our children
more than telemarketers
on every corner and every block
that their are more opportunities
selling rock than investing in stock

but before el cuco does his share
of interviews
we are here
at 3pm
waiting for the bell to ring
for another round
Brrrriiiiinnng!!!

Outside Brightwood Middle School
they rush out like a coming wave
pouring through double doors
pack packs pregnant with books
bouncing on their shoulders
to out marked meeting spot by the black iron fence

Rodriguez?
here!
Cruz?
here!
Aybar?
here!

all ready to go
down these glass glittered side walks
sprinkled with broken bottles and dreams
concrete curbs like lips
waiting to eat them

Molina?
here!
Gonzalez?
here!
Rios?
here!
Santiago?
Here!

like soldiers
they duce up
shouldertoshoulder
at attention
kids bubbling with enthusiasm
like a bottle of shaken soda
they march from the Brightwood middle school lot
past brick buildings,
sneakers dangling from telephone pole wires
soles clapping in the wind
before their march evolves into skips and jumps
laughter and flicking of ears
treading through leaves ankle deep
past hasty covered gang signs and beats booming out of tinted cars
they cross the street
to the other side

Barbosa?
here!
Johnson?
here!
Brown?
here!

stop and see
a soccer field 50 yards away
so green
so open
like the sky
caged yet free
away from the world
&
"on your marks! Get set!"
and they are off
before I can say go
and I laugh
with a lump in my throat
hands folded in my sweat jacket
in a silent prayer
for Brightwood.