MEXICO CITY POEMS

A WEEK IN MEXICO CITY

CAFE MORNING

The waiter opened the second story window near our table, and I heard a bird singing.  I walked over and spotted a nest woven into a tangle of wires on a wooden utility pole, maybe ten feet away.  A chickadee (I call most tiny birds chickadees,) stood peeping on the edge of the nest.  I looked away, and back, and it was gone.  There was enough activity inside the nest to cause it to shake, though there were no visible chicks.

I motioned Reggie over, and we watched for a few seconds when the chickadee shot out of the nest, flew straight toward the open and barred window, and in two blinks rocketed up and out of sight.  For that moment it seemed as big as a hawk, and supersonic, and its effect was like splashing cold water.

We looked back at the nest, laughed, enjoyed the moment, and went back to our breakfasts.

02.17.20

***

Ichigo Ichie (Japanese)

          One encounter, one chance

Maybe the last chance

We will never

and

those who

most fervently say

they will

never seem to

The water is wide.

Those three blocks

to the neighbor’s house

may never be traveled again

and the six steps

up

to

her

door

may

be

an Everest

to summit.

One encounter, one chance.

What would you like?

One encounter

          gentle

          rushed

          angry

          pleasant

          forced

          violent

          sweet

          bitter

          direct

                    kind?

One chance to

          conspire

          confound

          connect

          correct

          create

          cajole

          clarify

          chastise

          cull

                    carress?

One encounter before the mirror

          one chance to clearly see…

02.18

***

I’m in

continual

mourning

as

losses

layer

upon

losses

in a daily theft

of our common wealth.

It’s a

minute-by-minute

degradation

of what we thought

was sacred.

But –

move along

there’s nothing new

to see here.

It’s all for

the love-of-a-buck

need for a burner

desire for the latest.

Seven billion of us

who all want

something.

02.19

***

TEOTIHUACAN

Squats in

space

&

time

Not my heritage

not my memory

not locked

into my

meat or bones

yet

here I am

a late arrival

to a civilization

that

reached

for

water

&

fell

into

sky

Serpents

Jaguars

Hungry Gods

Corn

Adamantine City

bathed in blood

Cosmologies

of stone

80,000

souls

vanished

gone.

02.20

***

KIDS ARE DRAWN

to wonder.

Earth magic

comes easy.

What’s found

on forest floors

or washed

onto beaches

are powerful things

shells and feathers

bones and stones

worth collecting

and keeping safe

in cigar boxes

with hooks and eyes

to hold them squarely shut.

Traveling with parents

stopping at road side stands

or beachfront stores

finding dusty things

that once were magic

now desacrilized

and as devoid of power

as shuttered churches

No Sale – but thank you, ma’am.

In time

most treasures

are forgotten

stored in attics

or basements

though some few magi

have carried them

from home to home

like household gods

Wherever they rest

in boxes, on mantles

or on altars

they are charged

and emit

a subtle

hum

and

light

that may attract

a kid who senses

power

and with a touch

sets a piece

of the holy world

back into place.

RW

02.23.2002

Mexico City