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NauenThen

Poem of the Week

Cuenca, Ecuador

 

a streak of sun wakes us

into wonder. we quietly breathe southern air

 

I go for a walk

stare

 

a bowl they call a platter

a cup they call a vase

 

it's not mine—yet 

the white enclosed feel of the fog

 

3 pale blue domes of the New Cathedral

every morning a different delicate color

 

hooped roof tiles in shades of

pink, beige, copper, dusty, rust, khaki, brown

 

that somehow add up to red

earth tones, they say

 

but no earth I've ever seen

& small dark perfect people

 

boys wrapped with boys, girls with girls

a madre says no soda

 

& her little one snatches

her hand away

 

without a second joking reach

no tears, no complaint

 

only European-tinged women have gray hair

pajaros & clouds

 

an orange on a platter

I sit in a church not mine

 

in a country & religion not mine

Jesus in a tutu made of light

 

will Cuenca become mine? 

through food, love or a photo that I belong to

 

it was neither a noise nor a movement

or it was both! a little earthquake

 

the clouds the sun my recognizing eyes

change them charge them

 

our wealth is in time to stroll

we outdo each other in being pleased

 

the delicious fruit chirimuya

agua de pitimas, drink of a thousand flowers

 

& it's 3 in the afternoon

or 4 in the afternoon

 

 

August 2019

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