by Lorraine Caputo
Barefoot, skin the color of cloves a man walks down the center of Calle Cuenca Gunny sack slung over his left shoulder He leads five mongrels on a fraying blue rope Up on the open-air atrium of the Franciscan church the traditional market has returned Woven bouquets of palm fronds, flowers bucklets of choclo con habas, of salchipapas This day the police don’t push the vendors off At the toll of seven-morn mass an officer shoves a drunk down this street
Lorraine Caputo is a documentary poet, translator and travel writer. Her works appear in over 300 journals on six continents; and 20 collections of poetry – including On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019) and Caribbean Interludes (Origami Poems Project, 2022). She journeys through Latin America, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her travels at: www.facebook.com/lorrainecaputo.wanderer or https://latinamericawanderer.wordpress.com.