Wednesday, July 29, 2015

The Orange and Blue Girl (In Cherry Park, Lima)

Today is Peru’s National Holiday, 28th of July, 2015— (its 11:30 a.m.)
A silence hovers over Cherry Park, I’m on my patio- roof, looking down.
The grass is heavy-green the old Bicycle Man (Carlos), waters it daily, nightly! — (I had seen him last night, it must have been 12:30 p.m.)
A girl of perhaps eleven, with an Orange tight shirt, slightly developing,
And blue trousers walks about, today—to and fro—like the birds in the park here head bobs!
She lays on a slide, she sits on the teeter-totter, then the swigs.
She walks by the statue of Mary gives the sign of the cross, twice!
I’m still gazing steadily at her, —it’s her park this holiday, the whole park—
After drifting here and there, visiting this spot and that spot—she sees
The gate to the church, it is open ((attached to the park; Father Marcelo’s not coming over for lunch, he’s received an earlier offer…) (Rosa’s making red chicken))
Thus, into the Church Congo she goes, those iron gates slightly open—; from out of fields of short grass.
As if she was one wheat grain, in the whole world.
It makes me think, as I did as a boy: dog tired of pacing at home—
From room to room, like steps on a ship nowhere to go: I often went to the empty lot,
In lieu of a park: with crows still calling, swiftly gliding in the morning wind. Under the old towering oak tree on Indians Hill, a tire attached to a limb, hung, I’d grab it and swung, like a monkey; what then? I’d let loose jump in the sand.
Not knowing my childhood—as innocent as it was—would never last as long as my adulthood, or old age!
Nor the disillusionment that lied ahead, —but that’s another story for another poem, another day.
Today, it’s all about Ms. Orange and Blue, at eleven, she’s exploring heaven!