Maria’s smile reaches to the corners of her cheeks.
Her eyes glint like ripples of a lake
Under silver moonlight.
Her welcome is a plump embrace,
A warm shower of kisses.
The lines around her sparkling eyes
The layers of the earth, natural and beautiful.
When she sings,
Her body is a pendulum.
Sashay and sway in eloquence for
Her voice is a hoarse but bubbling joy
Unabashed. It is substantial, yet light as the blue mist
That floats above the snowcapped Andean peaks.
Her character is as enduring as the land –
Harsh yet yielding,
Unchanging as the seasons pass.
He sings, of her smell
Of salty sea and lemons,
And the feel of her palm
Rough yet gentle.
In his voice we can almost hear
The echoing song of hers,
The chorus that had coaxed him from non-being.
He yearns for us to know
A woman we will never know
And now, will never forget.
His mother, the eternal mother
Maria she is buried here
In the mountains
That stretch to the horizon.
In this world where donkeys wander
Heavy laden yet carefree.
I cannot see his face.
It’s simply too dark –
But I can hear
The tiny plunk of his tears as they land on his guitar.