you can check them out here:
http://picasaweb.google.com/callie.monroe
Enjoy!
lunes, 28 de enero de 2008
El Pizote (Written March 2007)
Fixed gaze out the plastic-laden rippling with time
cracked glass, fingers tracing the crooked rusty window-frame
sweat-stuck to the seat, gulping greedily for any breath of fresh air
I think of the children back in the States
who smeared their fingers across these sticky seats
twenty years ago,
Pestering the exhausted bus driver,
throwing wads of paper, envious
of the cool kids, the 8th graders and high schoolers
who always commandeered seats in the very back rows.
I take a gander at my companeros smashed against each other
“The people on the bus go up and down!” sings through my head…
Though they don’t seem to bounce much,
mouths in straight lines, fixed eyes, leaning, balancing, a sweaty mass.
I scoff at the “40 passenger maximum” inscribed on a silver plaque.
The department of transportation would have a heyday
with the 120 plus pasageros inside
plus daredevils perched on the roof with burlap bags of onions and coffee.
Who needs “oh shit” handles when you have 50 pounds of veggies to hang on to?
How many suburban neighborhoods has this old rambling wreck
of a once canary-yellow monstrosity witnessed?
I think it probably enjoys it’s sweet revival as “El Pizote”,
the lifeline between the middle of nowhere and the town closest to the middle of nowhere.
Cream with screaming burnt orange racing stripes,
as if the “road” from Cusmapa from Somoto up and down mountains was a go-cart track
and not a dried up river bed of
boulder-dodging
5 MPH
brakes screeching
shock-breaking
dust-laden
yellow-brick road.
I’m sure not in Kansas anymore,
though I just discovered the only grocery store within 4 hours is owned by Wal-Mart
and “Eye of the Tiger” blasts as we bump along
and the kid sitting across from me sports a shirt with stars and stripes flying proudly
which certainly adds an ironic kick to the situation.
A rainbow of tassels on the stick shift flutter in the breeze
an arc of letters calls out a blessing on our voyage “Dios bendiga esta bus y sus pasegeros”.
God bless “El Pizote” indeed,
Without this voyager the pirate of the northern mountains,
I’d have no peanut butter,
and Wal-Mart would be out a full 50 cordobas per month.
A loud “NO FEAR” sticker on the rearview mirror in fearless bold font
would warrant skepticism as turns are taken at remarkable speeds,
but I’m positive it’s just for show.
I know driver and he doesn’t speak a word of English
beyond the necessities of “Hello” and “I love you.”
What more do we really need to say?
cracked glass, fingers tracing the crooked rusty window-frame
sweat-stuck to the seat, gulping greedily for any breath of fresh air
I think of the children back in the States
who smeared their fingers across these sticky seats
twenty years ago,
Pestering the exhausted bus driver,
throwing wads of paper, envious
of the cool kids, the 8th graders and high schoolers
who always commandeered seats in the very back rows.
I take a gander at my companeros smashed against each other
“The people on the bus go up and down!” sings through my head…
Though they don’t seem to bounce much,
mouths in straight lines, fixed eyes, leaning, balancing, a sweaty mass.
I scoff at the “40 passenger maximum” inscribed on a silver plaque.
The department of transportation would have a heyday
with the 120 plus pasageros inside
plus daredevils perched on the roof with burlap bags of onions and coffee.
Who needs “oh shit” handles when you have 50 pounds of veggies to hang on to?
How many suburban neighborhoods has this old rambling wreck
of a once canary-yellow monstrosity witnessed?
I think it probably enjoys it’s sweet revival as “El Pizote”,
the lifeline between the middle of nowhere and the town closest to the middle of nowhere.
Cream with screaming burnt orange racing stripes,
as if the “road” from Cusmapa from Somoto up and down mountains was a go-cart track
and not a dried up river bed of
boulder-dodging
5 MPH
brakes screeching
shock-breaking
dust-laden
yellow-brick road.
I’m sure not in Kansas anymore,
though I just discovered the only grocery store within 4 hours is owned by Wal-Mart
and “Eye of the Tiger” blasts as we bump along
and the kid sitting across from me sports a shirt with stars and stripes flying proudly
which certainly adds an ironic kick to the situation.
A rainbow of tassels on the stick shift flutter in the breeze
an arc of letters calls out a blessing on our voyage “Dios bendiga esta bus y sus pasegeros”.
God bless “El Pizote” indeed,
Without this voyager the pirate of the northern mountains,
I’d have no peanut butter,
and Wal-Mart would be out a full 50 cordobas per month.
A loud “NO FEAR” sticker on the rearview mirror in fearless bold font
would warrant skepticism as turns are taken at remarkable speeds,
but I’m positive it’s just for show.
I know driver and he doesn’t speak a word of English
beyond the necessities of “Hello” and “I love you.”
What more do we really need to say?
Two Important Updates
1) Refering to the "street cred" blog... just thought you all should know that a couple of weeks ago I spent an afternoon moving giant bus tires with all the men I work with at the school. I was covered in oil and dirt, but they were obviously impressed with my manual labor capabilities. So I think that probably covered my street cred building for the month.
2) A miracle of an update... little 7-year-old Cindy (who had surgery last May on her foot, and hasn't walked since she was a year-and-a-half years old) is now full of attitude and walking MORE than the doctor thinks she should be able to. She's been prancing around in circles throughout her house, pushes Magda (her mom)'s hands away... wants to be completely independent. She's talking now about starting DANCE classes. She's entirely inspiring.
Yet another unexpected joy...
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky
to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment.
First to let go of life.
Finally, to take a step without feet.
- Rumi
Cece on Christmas Eve
Nothing in the world like spending Christmas with my little sister in Cusmapa, Nicaragua.
Blowing bubbles and listening to Pink Floyd under breezy orange trees and buttery sunshine.
Goggles worn as sunglasses... life doesn't get better than this.
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