The evening of gather,
where music overtakes ears,
and food’s variety and bounty and generosity romance the earth’s air.
People of all makes and sizes and religions and diets,
All slightly less careful,
Attempting foods, old with the new, assuredly healthy and flavor blasted.
Poets close by, great conversing.
Farmers all over, splendid ways of exchanging.
Parents lounging, proud of their kids nicks and scratches, dirt filled yet clean.
Friends scattered together, overjoyed whilst appreciating.
Scenes of how it is supposed to be,
repeated from Saturday past.
La Milpa on this Saturday eve,
the one place where the foods of the day should be and are comfortably free.
peaceful this is.
ReplyDeleteand holy guacamole i adore your ode to your typewriter you have underneath your blog title. utterly brilliant. i can't wait until the time where we sit under a tree or in a coffee shop and write together and have everyone look at us strangely.
i miss you, but at least i have your writing :)