El Soul Por La Window

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One day looking at the hill outside my bay window
sipping coffee, my first cup
awed at how the bougainvillea grow
when the bush, like a green curtain, opens up.

The hill’s earth now exposed, an entryway appears
framed by the pretty pink flowers-ballerinas in the air
humming birds danced about. My heart hiccuped, eyes filled with tears
to look outside my window and see such flair.

Then into the center leaps a furry little creature
dark hair, blue-eyes, skin tan, slender as a fawn.
The branches bow down, birds chirp, leaves flutter around her
such reverence. Like bees to honey, I too am drawn.
I want to catch her.
I want to teach her.
I want to touch her.

She nibbles on the fruit fallen from its tree
sits on her haunches thigh muscles fibrous-rope
I kneel closer to the ground so she won’t see me
“Please stay, don’t get scared” I secretly hope.

Furry little creature, I take a step closer
feet delicate under squeaky boards
but her faithful, furry litte-er
creatures, look at me vigorous like boars

Her companions’ tails-linked
around her while she nibbled away in peace.
They orbited in her aura. She never blinked
they had her back, she was at ease.

Outside my window
looking out, framed
I feel framed, some sort of Romeo
tricked by your image. Our story, pained.

Realizing it was a trap
a little too late.
Furry little creature, have me in your grasp.
Why can’t this be fate?


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