Poem
I need a way to be inspired besides travelling. Anyways, wrote a poem the other day.
Monja
The showers are cold
And light. The water
Puddles along terra cotta -
It is precious here, cara.
Electricity, too. The light
Is harsh, from a bulb
Extending from the wall
Like the chipped paint
And from a tiny skylight
So high up I wonder
How long its spiders
Have gone undisturbed
Weaving silken rebozos.
The beds are firm here -
Militant, just a mattress
And a wooden frame.
The curtain waves hola
To the cars and trucks
On nuestra calle, welcoming
Their noise to stomp
Through the room like children.
I wonder what I have done
Condemning myself to five weeks
Of graffiti, 4.5 peso bus fares,
Mediocre tortas and agua peligrosa.
A beautiful cell with yellow cloisters
Filled with a long Mexican night.
Monja
The showers are cold
And light. The water
Puddles along terra cotta -
It is precious here, cara.
Electricity, too. The light
Is harsh, from a bulb
Extending from the wall
Like the chipped paint
And from a tiny skylight
So high up I wonder
How long its spiders
Have gone undisturbed
Weaving silken rebozos.
The beds are firm here -
Militant, just a mattress
And a wooden frame.
The curtain waves hola
To the cars and trucks
On nuestra calle, welcoming
Their noise to stomp
Through the room like children.
I wonder what I have done
Condemning myself to five weeks
Of graffiti, 4.5 peso bus fares,
Mediocre tortas and agua peligrosa.
A beautiful cell with yellow cloisters
Filled with a long Mexican night.