slides into uncomfortable shoes
shoulders ungainly chiffons.
Reluctant Atlas, she proms
like the hills carrying the gauzy damp lungs
ready to drop unpredictable outcomes -
will there be more sunshine tomorrow
or will there be tears?
The land is no virgin anymore
she has given all her best efforts.
People, tread with naked, tender steps,
the careful paces of those who know
that each touch
bite of bread
every seed sewn, every limb torn down,
every lay me down
should be handled like a prayer
whispered in earnest to the Mother
the ear of the lover
to the hole you dig in the ground
because each time is new
every all the time a beginning.
That is why she smiles as she goes
in spite of all the things she knows.
(photo by David Allan Harvey. 1998, Quinceanera. Cuba)