Another Quito Poem
Marisa Vogel
Broadened, widened, rich and fertile
the bellies of the Andes mountains
Footpaths run criss-cross amid
gnarling roots and gnashing, crashing
falls. They drip away the calloused face of stone
hoeing rivulets for the tiny ferns with their tiny leaves
that dance in the mighty breeze
Brisk enough to part the waters
of the vertiginous cascadas.
Native children scream and cry
on the bus rides through the city.
The tang of smog and sweaty flesh
coat our tongues like ragged cloths.
We wipe and wipe the sweat away
forbearing smiles do cross our lips
as we smile and wink our too clear eyes
Aware of all their staring.
On the bus ride through the city
south to Kumbaya.
The dogs are piqued, smelling
yeasty bread, drifting through
La Rosa’s doors. They lift their heads
without respect, eyeing meat carts, fruit stands, full bags, free hands
Hungry, like so many beggars
who dwell and swell neath the sun’s fierce glare—
The street provides what fair they eat:
Be it giv’n by kinder strangers
than the Spaniards provided for.
And then the rain comes there one night
with its cleaning hands and smiling charms
Washing, washing grime away
till the city stands in fresh array
The fog embracing every block
Personal, now, quiet, now,
Quito, caress me,
lead without the horns,
the voices, the vices—
And look ahead as the old days drift
away in smoke that stings our eyes
the last time—with tears for what is past.
Marisa Vogel is a student at Anderson University. She enjoys acting, singing, and writing and would love to be a professional editor one day. She is a true hipster vegetarian--for the health benefits! She considers herself a feminist and is alwasy striving to fight and inform he injustices in the world. Marisa's inspiration for this poem is her twin sister, Miriam, who studied in Ecudaor. ,
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