GRIEF Poem: The Super, by Gilbert Diaz

I saw you at Caridad.
The one at the corner of 191st & St. Nich

A huge rat climbed out of a pile of garbage beside you.
You didn’t flinch.

You had the white and purple varsity baseball jacket,
A corona inside one of those brown paper bags.

You had on those glasses,
I remember they changed tints,
According to the time-of-days-magic.

I saw you there.
Sky somber blue,
Like the loud silence on the last days of summer
When kids return to school.

We’d been there many times.
The last after graduation,
I remember you said sorry
That this was our celebration.

I saw you standing,
Clean shaved, hair perfectly combed.
You always said, “If a man’s hair isn’t kept,
It’d be best to stay home.”

I saw you talking up everyone who walked by.
I saw all your teeth and imagined
The ember in eyes.

You ran cement block hands
Across your face.
Battered nails, dust
Dried clay.

I saw you there and only saw you happy.
Is it true that while you were here,
Your heart was also smiling?