Lavander Lilies for the Living for Sale by an Illegal Latino on Long Beach and Del Amo

You search for healing light as you drive

In the early morning mist on a Monday

Of singsong and quick sorrow.



A hazy light breaks through the fog

Of your mind and the lavander lilies

Are sold by the illegal Latino to ease

Your loves gone haywire, some the ones

For the land you look for other directions,

Some for the city of white lights

And bloody memory as in that rite of hawking

For dollars and redemption on the wayside.



You do not hear the honking of cars,

The sound that spells a sale.

You imagine the exchange of souls

In this land of exiles, all spirits

Homing into strangeness,

Sheltering in the emptiness

Of distant fields of lavander lilies

Fading fast into shadow.



You count the dimes and quarters.

They are not enough to buy you

The quick fix from that joyous sorrow.



But the illegal Latino looks at you,

Hawks his wares and he calls out to you,

"Flores, flores, flores, mi amigo!"

You can only say a rapid "No!"

As the traffic light beckons you

To go, go the way of the exilo loco.





Aurelio S. Agcaoili

Artesia, CA, USA

Nov. 10, 2004