Guillermo Rebollo Gil

The Lights

I owe this sudden subtle tremble to the lights
of the Hiram Bithorn Municipal Stadium in San Juan,
which I can see now from my kitchen window,
and under which I never once stood to dream
of making it in the bigs, but I do remember walking
along the other side of the outfield fence
hand in hand with my grade school friend—
we had made each other swear that we would
imagine ourselves out for a stroll
with the prettiest girl in home room instead.

Place Poem

There are birds some say that pick their mates
based solely on the beauty of the nest they made.
I made a pot of white rice. Fish sticks are in the oven.
On average this summer there are seventeen thousand homes
without power on any given night in San Juan.
Tonight, right before the power went out, I plugged in
a strand of Christmas lights on our balcony.