Happy thoughts, like balloons in a park;

weightless, in a vendors hand.

Children reach; bright clowns fill their eyes.

Tears flow when strings escape tiny hands.

Stone arches, back spring round a Zocalo,

making cool places to eat and drink.

A hiding place from the fierce sun

but not from vendors, eager as flies.

Lilting music from a gazebo bandstand,

Helium filled notes float away.

Flowers, borne by smiles in bright dresses.

Scent; full bodied like the women.

An old crone, white hair with two sticks,

young senoritas, proud of their femininity,

family begging on the sidewalk,

serious urchins sell rubber balls.

Wrought iron on windows, studded doors,

Cool courtyards, fountains and green ferns.

Small dwelling, clean, cluttered, loud music.

Sacred icons beside raunchy calendars,

carved radishes and corn husk tableaus.

A web of long, hot extension cords.

A million lights twinkle, eyes flash.

Falice Navidad en Oaxacaa.

 
 
David Garlick, Oaxaca, December, 1997