laffin’

April 5, 2011

yo, when we get together yo…
i feel like a fuckin’ kid again.
fo’real.

ay bendito.

we laff’
like stoopit’!
’cause we ‘memba’ them days
when a dollar bought you
a brown bag full of candy
and we’d sit on park benches
spittin’ sunflowa’ seeds
talkin’ maaaaad shit, yo.

them was the days.

cuando tio would
whoop our asses with the belt
for stayin’ up too late
and right afta’ he’d tell us to go
to the kitchen, eat conflai
and play dominos with him.

when we get together
all we do is laff’ son.

talkin’ ’bout stories
that are legendary
in an endangered barrio.

pero fuck it…
’cause that’s our house.
and that’s not what this is about.

age has painted lines on our faces.
hardships have given us canas.
our kids meet each other
for the first time
and they play like we use to:
making fun out of nuttin’!

laffin’

hysterically. tears in eyes.
belly doubled over. face hurting.
laffin’.

’cause our lafter’
mends hearts and heartaches.
’cause our lafter’
heals thirty-year-old wounds.
’cause our lafter’
bounces off project stairwells
and hallways to the tune of
let’s-get-the-fuck-outta’-here-
cause-we-just-did-some-crazy-
shit-we-weren’t-suppose-to.

laffin’.

porque at the end of this visit
that’s all we take wit’ us:
lafter’ and love.

i’d trade my bag of candy
for some time witch’all in a new york minute
anytime.

~Sarahí Yajaira,  2011 ©

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