A Good Day

by ERNESTO TREJO

Father, one summer I was seven,

on a Sunday, the usual day

for miracles,

you held me and my brother

all afternoon

slapping the river.

Told us to open our eyes underwater

and not be afraid. There,

I saw the current combing your legs,

small and sturdy,

the tired legs of a barber.

Later you swam where it was deep

with us clinging to your neck

until you said let go ,

knowing that we wouldn’t sink.

At dusk we drove back to town

and didn’t tell you how much water

we had swallowed all day,

how we felt the slice of moon

tickling our bellies,

a barber’s razor knocking softly

against your head, your profile

of stone a calm fist

against the night

and all the hands that held it.

From “Entering a Life” (Arte Publico Press, University of Houston, Houston, TX 77204-2090: $7, paper; 1-55885-014-7. Trejo, who grew up in Mexico, teaches creative writing at Fresno City College. copyright 1990, Ernesto Trejo. Reprinted by permission of Arte Publico Press.