yesterday i stood in line waiting to wash my hands or brush my teeth or wash my dishes. whatever it was, i was waiting, next to the pila where we wash our clothes or clean fish, next to our shower where i always scrape my shin stepping out, next to our toilet stand where every third flush something breaks and we must take water from the pila to lower the water in the bowl. i was there, waiting for barbara to finish what she was doing, there below the criss cross of clothes line with wet and semi-wet clothes blocking vision, i looked up and out through the netting to the forest, the sun, a bird.
this will not always be. yet i am here.
sábado, 26 de abril de 2008
still waters, candle light and cysts
i begin my day on the dock breathing with the still
waters and low clouds. i end my day transforming
a pair of pants to a skirt. i sew by candle light, as i
learn about the cysts in which amaebas wrap their
eggs, tough enough to not absorb the medicine i
take every 12 hours. my third treatment in eight
months.
waters and low clouds. i end my day transforming
a pair of pants to a skirt. i sew by candle light, as i
learn about the cysts in which amaebas wrap their
eggs, tough enough to not absorb the medicine i
take every 12 hours. my third treatment in eight
months.
domingo, 20 de abril de 2008
without witness
"If a tree falls in a forest and no one is around to hear it, does it make a sound?"
the lancha veered looking for calmer waters, but the wind didn't rest and the white waves didn't soften. we were teachers and students returning to family and friends on a friday afternoon, when we saw her. she was probably in her late 40's or early 50's standing tall at the back guiding her low laying lancha. wood palets tied with a white cord weighed it down. hey don tocho! they let her drive the boat. why don't you guys teach me to drive like her? screamed paloma to the clown bellied lanchero through the motor and wind. we watched her back head down river as we continued up.
-you know you can stay here tonight, her friend reminded her. the river is choppy; you have a heavy load, and it is getting late. why don't you stay?
-i want to get home. i've been out all day purchasing the wood. i want to sleep in my own bed tonight, see my dogs, check up on mono. mono was the howling monkey she had discovered in the indigenous town behind her home. seeing it tied up in a cage, she offered a fare price and took it home to add to her collection of rescued animals. thanks for the offer, but it isn't that bad. if i leave know i should be home for dinner with chuck.
-be careful
-i will
with a kiss on the cheek and a hug they parted. the friend stayed on the dock watching the boat pull away and head toward the golfete. they waved one last time and then, the woman never looked back.
by 7:30 most teachers and students were eating at home in their different towns, but not all. we, the foriegn teachers, didn't have to travel far to find ourselves scattered on the cushions of the sundog cafe owned by other foreigners. by 7:30 we were on our second beer when the radio was turned up and we heard, ...anyone seen my wife? she should have arrived by now... the voice continued to describe the long lancha heavy with wood.
by 9:00 the owners of the cafe and the other sailors were on their cell phones sending out the alert to those who may not be near a radio.
no one really knows what happened. nobody witnessed the fall. the lancha was found half sunk with her body at river's bottom. she was a good swimmer. theories blame the water and wind that caused wood to fly to head.
arriving at his cafe the next day, the owner had to walk through a navy barricade that kept people away from the dock where her bloated body lay face up. now on land, no one could touch her or move her until the officials from puerto barrios came. for two hours her body cooked in the carribean sun and there was nothing her husband could do in this land that was never his.
the lancha veered looking for calmer waters, but the wind didn't rest and the white waves didn't soften. we were teachers and students returning to family and friends on a friday afternoon, when we saw her. she was probably in her late 40's or early 50's standing tall at the back guiding her low laying lancha. wood palets tied with a white cord weighed it down. hey don tocho! they let her drive the boat. why don't you guys teach me to drive like her? screamed paloma to the clown bellied lanchero through the motor and wind. we watched her back head down river as we continued up.
-you know you can stay here tonight, her friend reminded her. the river is choppy; you have a heavy load, and it is getting late. why don't you stay?
-i want to get home. i've been out all day purchasing the wood. i want to sleep in my own bed tonight, see my dogs, check up on mono. mono was the howling monkey she had discovered in the indigenous town behind her home. seeing it tied up in a cage, she offered a fare price and took it home to add to her collection of rescued animals. thanks for the offer, but it isn't that bad. if i leave know i should be home for dinner with chuck.
-be careful
-i will
with a kiss on the cheek and a hug they parted. the friend stayed on the dock watching the boat pull away and head toward the golfete. they waved one last time and then, the woman never looked back.
by 7:30 most teachers and students were eating at home in their different towns, but not all. we, the foriegn teachers, didn't have to travel far to find ourselves scattered on the cushions of the sundog cafe owned by other foreigners. by 7:30 we were on our second beer when the radio was turned up and we heard, ...anyone seen my wife? she should have arrived by now... the voice continued to describe the long lancha heavy with wood.
by 9:00 the owners of the cafe and the other sailors were on their cell phones sending out the alert to those who may not be near a radio.
no one really knows what happened. nobody witnessed the fall. the lancha was found half sunk with her body at river's bottom. she was a good swimmer. theories blame the water and wind that caused wood to fly to head.
arriving at his cafe the next day, the owner had to walk through a navy barricade that kept people away from the dock where her bloated body lay face up. now on land, no one could touch her or move her until the officials from puerto barrios came. for two hours her body cooked in the carribean sun and there was nothing her husband could do in this land that was never his.
sábado, 19 de abril de 2008
today...
...the clothes line fell; the men were changing lamina roofing when one slipped and came sliding down right into the thin green twine hung between green column and brown tree. heidi's white shirt sunk in the mud, her black shorts stuck under an oxidized metal sheet. i had more luck. all my nine items hung proudly at 7:10 am fell dry and to the right of the slop.
...i had to remind myself to breath again as elvia decoded words with d: nido, moda, dama and then sentences: me duele mi dedo; el mono anda de moda. she doesn't need work with silable cards, she just needs practice, needs someone to read with her daily.
...when i arrived to pick up my students from the library, i found them spread on the floor, eyes closed. they had all become sleeping beauties and needed my kiss to wake them and send them off to snack time. ony one escaped me: elder.
i am a collection of these moments and more.
...i had to remind myself to breath again as elvia decoded words with d: nido, moda, dama and then sentences: me duele mi dedo; el mono anda de moda. she doesn't need work with silable cards, she just needs practice, needs someone to read with her daily.
...when i arrived to pick up my students from the library, i found them spread on the floor, eyes closed. they had all become sleeping beauties and needed my kiss to wake them and send them off to snack time. ony one escaped me: elder.
i am a collection of these moments and more.
miércoles, 19 de marzo de 2008
at play
tall trees filter the afternoon sun warming some and shadowing others. we sit in a circle with the multicolored park in front, the garden to the right and the fish pond behind. a little bit farther down, we would be on pancho's grave, dug a week ago for the old horse who fell one day and couldn't get back up.
a la zaptilla por de atras
tris tras
ni la ves ni la veràs
tris tras
that is what we sing as one student encircles us with shoe in hand ready to leave it behind another who will then run trying to catch the first. then we sing:
raton que pìa al gato
raton que te va a pìar
si no te pìa esta noche
mañana te piarà
the older students, in oversized blue denim shirts weave through the swings and around us. they carry old rice bags over their shoulders filled with chicken dung. the muddy substance trickles out of the pourous bags as they scurry from chicken coup to garden and back again to refill. some stop to watch the little ones light with song in the chase of children. some sing along.
blanca, tall and thin, almost a woman with a timid elegance stands to run behind elio. the yellow rays softly illuminate her smile and her care to stand with a straight skirt. i see her framed in innocence, not that of a child to be protected, but that of a young woman who has been protected too much. like the others, her eyes look out wondering, yet they look up and then down. she smiles, then quickly covers it with her hand.
even now as she runs around the circle she bends low at the shoulders. maybe she runs that way; maybe she is trying to not seem so big amongst the first graders. she is, older then most of the students in blue. she has come to us only this year and at any moment i sense her father might call her home to marry.
blanca, despite her longer legs doesn't reach elio before he slides safely into her position in the circle. it is her turn to walk and choose some one. she encircles us twice fidgiting with the shoe in hand. she hides her giggle and sets the shoe behind edwin, the little boy who in class nudges her arm, looks at her paper, takes her eraser, pulls her hair. she chooses him to chase her, and we sing:
raton que pìa al gato
raton que te va a pìar
si no te pìa esta noche
mañana te piarà
a la zaptilla por de atras
tris tras
ni la ves ni la veràs
tris tras
that is what we sing as one student encircles us with shoe in hand ready to leave it behind another who will then run trying to catch the first. then we sing:
raton que pìa al gato
raton que te va a pìar
si no te pìa esta noche
mañana te piarà
the older students, in oversized blue denim shirts weave through the swings and around us. they carry old rice bags over their shoulders filled with chicken dung. the muddy substance trickles out of the pourous bags as they scurry from chicken coup to garden and back again to refill. some stop to watch the little ones light with song in the chase of children. some sing along.
blanca, tall and thin, almost a woman with a timid elegance stands to run behind elio. the yellow rays softly illuminate her smile and her care to stand with a straight skirt. i see her framed in innocence, not that of a child to be protected, but that of a young woman who has been protected too much. like the others, her eyes look out wondering, yet they look up and then down. she smiles, then quickly covers it with her hand.
even now as she runs around the circle she bends low at the shoulders. maybe she runs that way; maybe she is trying to not seem so big amongst the first graders. she is, older then most of the students in blue. she has come to us only this year and at any moment i sense her father might call her home to marry.
blanca, despite her longer legs doesn't reach elio before he slides safely into her position in the circle. it is her turn to walk and choose some one. she encircles us twice fidgiting with the shoe in hand. she hides her giggle and sets the shoe behind edwin, the little boy who in class nudges her arm, looks at her paper, takes her eraser, pulls her hair. she chooses him to chase her, and we sing:
raton que pìa al gato
raton que te va a pìar
si no te pìa esta noche
mañana te piarà
sábado, 8 de marzo de 2008
what falls
much wind, still no rain. what falls
is a scorpion from the roof of my classroom. El Pato was up there
sweeping off the "trash" or what we would call
leaves, when the long black creature
with a curled up tail fell
in middle of the chairs. a little to the left
or a little to the the right
it would have fallen on top
of a child. Edwin
quickly had it beneath his shoe and i
quickly had to take over: a couple of slaps
a sweep out the door
back to the letter "S".
is a scorpion from the roof of my classroom. El Pato was up there
sweeping off the "trash" or what we would call
leaves, when the long black creature
with a curled up tail fell
in middle of the chairs. a little to the left
or a little to the the right
it would have fallen on top
of a child. Edwin
quickly had it beneath his shoe and i
quickly had to take over: a couple of slaps
a sweep out the door
back to the letter "S".
the breakfast table
Yesterday at breakfast around the long blue table on the porch, we shared our individual nights to understand the walls we share. Oh, that was you Esther clapping in the middle of the night? asked Paloma.
Yes, because of the rat. I woke up hearing the rat gnawing at my bed post. And if he continued the bed would have fallen and he would have gnawed at me. Esther and I share a room, and I remember vaguely waking up at some point and asking how she knew it was a rat. Apparently I advised her to bang on the bed or the wall which I did as well, then sleep, deep sleep. Until the alarm that sounded at 4:45 on the other side of the wall. Luna thought it was Barbara's alarm, but Barbara couldn’t find her alarm because it wasn’t hers it was Luna’s that had shaken the house in her innocent attempt to wake up early to write the letter to the parents advising them of the doctor and dentist and dermatologist that will be coming next week. 13 letters written by hand. But after the alarm I couldn’t sleep. The orientadora of the little girls was shouting their names and their corresponding daily chores and the reggaeton was already blaring in the darkness before the sun.
Well, I killed the rat, Flori commented as she spooned up her granola and apple.
How big was it? How did you kill it?
A small one. About this big. It went behind the current and I grabbed it and squeezed.
Eeewww....ooohhh, the table erupted and the children took a break form their chores of sweeping the jungle floor to observe the foreign teachers roar with disgust and disbelief as we imagined this short stout woman squeeze life between her fingers.
Suscribirse a:
Entradas (Atom)
