Posts: 538
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Registered: Nov 2002

posted July 23, 2003 11:34 AM         

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In the arms of Mexico
R. Dafremen

In Mexico
In a dance
Her purple ribbons ripple
As she twists upon the breeze
It's not so dirty here
As some are led to believe
In fact there's a clever sort of rasp
To all the people here
That you'd have to feel
That you'd have to see.

Her knee raised high
Her sash's red green tassle flips
That way and this upon her thigh
Her skipping lifts the dust in cloudy tufts
Up the road
Upon the wind
Upon her face
The gusts brush past her Arabian tresses
Some fall just into her eyes
The ribbon stops to drop and waggle against her sweater
Protests the quickness of the weather
By lunging quickly at the zephyrs passing by
Til the afternoon togetherness draws her to the porch's light
Where Tio's pañuelo (triple-folded)
Wipes sleep from the corners of her eyes
And there's almost a sigh
To the way she's tucked up under his chin
With a yawn, snuggling into her clan.
Voices mingle with the crickets
Her mind begins to sleep
Her vestido limp upon his knees
Her body slumbering
Like the red green splash of sash across her knees
She sighs the sigh of angels
When Tia comes and scoops her up
With a heartbeat in her ear
She's off to bed
All the funny things abuelito said
Still swirled into her dreams
The sound of Tia's footsteps fainter
Until they've disappeared
Until they're so far away
Until there's only Jesus looking down from just above her head
The bed betrays her breathing
Against the quiet's will
Until her room lies still
Like purple ribbons on her nightstand.

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