"Seeds "
In El Sausal you can devour fresh beefsteak
smoked on the grill. Watch the short chubby
ladies pat their tortillas. There's always a stand
open somewhere. Esteban tells me to eat
as many as I want. "Add the salsa verde, baby."
So I suck it up, devour handfuls,
gulp seacoast, wind and sunlight -- sticky
green makes its path down my fingers.
In the afternoon Doña Lupe's hammock lulls us.
Wine becomes his breath, sun leans on saltbrush.
I place a small caché of seeds in my purse.
"You must keep them for luck," his sister says.
Returning, we drive along the Pacific.
I play Miles, he plays Chick
and the wind sweeps, the air cleans--
we let it do those things that nature does.
Today, my hand searches for coins
in an empty purse. I catch tiny seeds.
When spring returns, I will scatter
myself and hope for the wind.
© 2005 Emusing -Lois P. Jones
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