Papi Working

By Julia Alvarez

The long day spent listening

to homesick hearts,
the tick tock of the clock --
the way Americans mark time,
long hours, long days.
Often they came only to hear him
say nada in their mother tongue.
I found nothing wrong.
To dole out jarabe for the children’s coughs,
convince the doña to stay off that leg.

In his white saco Mami ironed out,

smoothed the tired wrinkles
till he was young again,
he spend his days, long days
tending to the ills of immigrants,
his own heart heavy with what was gone,
this new country like a pill
that slowly kills but keeps you from worse deaths.
What was to be done?

They came to hear him say

nada in their mother tongue.