Leaving my language behind, I entered the labyrinth. Its streets were narrow, old and crowded with small fruit-colored buildings made of mud and stone. Dogs spoke in tongues and birds, following an alien gyroscope, flew downward into a cloudy underworld. Saints loitered in shadows making deals with passers-by. I was greeted by a cockroach who kindly explained their price, plastic flowers and bottled flame. I could see within the wicker shadows of their tiny huts, each saint stood stoic and faithful before their candles and the litter of past offerings; blackened, shattered glass and dusty clods of petals and wax. But at the hour any nearby church bell rang, they winced in their solitude. I asked the cockroach if anyone else was in the business.The dogs, she answered, adding that I best consider carefully before choosing among them. Before I could ask anything else she scuttled off, disappearing into the crack of a flame red wall.
asha
Mexico, 2003
Mexico, 2003
Posts
3 comments:
I come here for a shot of clear air. I'm never disappointed. I find a circle of inscribed beauty and wonder whether it is right to sully them with my comments. I'm a fish gaping.
Bob, I treasure your comments. You are one of the rare people who visits here, honored guest and friend on the road who sweetens and refreshes the journey. It is I who owe thanks to you so thank you.
Humble: this word magic is the best thing I have read in my derelict life. You're the Master of the Logos. My mind is blown. No one writes like you, sister.
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