Very first draft and still needs work. Tell me what you think...
By: Loida Casares Ruiz
He weaves his stories
That dad of mine
He weaves them like the ribbons
On a basket
In and out each ribbon goes
As I sit and listen to those tales
He weaves a story of his childhood
Of the Great Depression
Of a little boy who wore no shoes to school
But shined shoes for others
And bought ice cream and a bike
“Instead of shoes?” I wonder
He weaves stories about
The injustices his people faced
Of the Texas Rangers
And picking cotton in West Texas
Of signs that read
“No dogs or Mexicans allowed.”
Outside of diners
Leaving an impression
On a young boy
He tells of rides in trucks
To the pisca
About a man with a big twirling moustache
Of his brother making fun of the man behind his back
While he shook with the laughter building inside
Trying to suppress the chuckles
While their father glared at them
Promising a thrashing with his eyes
He weaves a story
That storyteller of mine
Stories that he told me as a child
Stories that he told me of my history
Stories that he told me of his past
Some are funny.
Some are sad…
Some I’d rather not know…
But he’s a storyteller and that’s what he does.
Beautiful!!!! I love it! You are so talented Loida!
It's a great poem about your dad...
everything is there- joy, tears, and laughter.
It's a beautiful homage to your papacito.
Don't change anything!! It's perfect...so full of love!
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