I died in 1993 after the bombing of the World Trade Center.
I was held down on the floors of higher education and beaten
on the back of my head. I had so much to live for in the moment I met a painter
who wanted to marry me. She made me feel like a tourist on a honeymoon in the
city I saw through her bright eyes.
Her birthday is 9/11.
Before the final
explosion took away memories, I experienced the phenomena of reliving life in a
blink of an eye. I’m a schoolboy again
who carried Ann Frank in his arms as shadows of burnt-out buildings and bullies
fell over us in The South Bronx of America.
I loved reading
books. I loved bringing to life King Arthur over and over again because the end
of his kingdom was heartbreaking to my idealistic childhood.
I learned everyone has his or her time.
Centuries don’t last forever.
I’m not telling my story to you as much I am rehearsing what
to say before God and angels. It’s time to let go of my homelessness and move
from this winter of discontent.
The End begins by looking out my bedroom window to fireflies
over Saint Mary’s Park, a former estate of The Founding Father who wrote the
words We, The People.
I’m home with family.
There’s my pillow.
Good will to all on Earth from the boy I was once upon a
time in Camelot.
Have pleasant dreams.
A Mural For Myself In The South Bronx of America by Daniel
Angel Aponte
