|Photo taken by my hubby, Joe.|
Clearly fearless, he looked tough.
Bandana, black on black denim, leather,
black art that swirled over swollen muscles
like menacing neon proclaiming
an easily provoked strength... anger.
And I wondered if his heart too was pierced.
The place so small,. He sat so close.
Not that I eavesdropped,
I overheard his conversation on the phone:
"I'm having dinner,
then off to polish a floor.
How's mom? I miss her each day more."
Incongruous with expectation,
(though really, I reject stereotypes)
about his handyman work and abode,
the happiness of life in beauty,
his preference for food that burns (of course).
The loud rumble of huge motorcycle
He left on his scooter.
My focus changed.
Her body slumped, legs shuffled,
perhaps my age, but she looked OLDer.
Fatigue circled her eyes
almost concealing a softness
kneaded by life, pounding.
Sincerity and gratitude adorned
the smile she shined
on those she served
But our connection went beyond
roles or words.
It encompassed worlds
different yet the same
in sorrow, suffering, struggling,
in joy, laughter and love.
about her island and mine,
commonalities of customs
and how delicious her food.
My bill paid, I remain in debt
to her gesture of solidarity.
"I hope you enjoy these bananas
from my sister's garden." she said
giving me blessed fruit,
manna for my soul.
Satiated with perfection,
(Submitted to Dverse Poets.
(That night we decided not to do anything touristy. We went instead to a simple restaurant. I've learned that traveling is not just about sight-seeing. It's about the people who expand our sight.)