GAUCHO 

I saw your hair 
yesterday 
in a trash can somewhere 
in town 
strewn over a Cactus Cooler 
still damp from midnight rain 
luminous in morning sun 
curls still intact. 

When I was seven 
a barber snipped off both my fine braids 
ribbons too. 
I cried for him to stop; 
mother commanded, "Go on!" 
weary from the tangles. 
She shoved two thick braids into her shiny 
red handbag. 
They're still in the blue hatbox labeled odds 
and ends 
along with report cards 
and baby teeth 

I grabbed a handful of curl; 
it glided through my fingertips. 
Even after the rain, fragrance lingered. 
I swallowed the curl, 
washed it down with Cactus Cooler, 
rushed home to hide the scissors. 

Balcony 

I sit with you on turquoise afternoons 
in limpid winter, 
host to Sunday solitude. 
My feet skim your tan speckled tiles, 
eyes transfixed between two iron rails: 
vast rectangular picture frame, 
transparency 
through which to view blue, 
translucent projection 
of sea 
beyond moorish port 
you and camus memorized long before 
my arrival, 
Languid, cobalt blue clad men unload 
Europe 
even after the Revolution. 

Andean Pantoum

There are the Incan emerald tombs
Hovering over mesas green.
The Andes float in clouds serene;
Crops fertile in her valley's wombs.

Hovering over mesas green,
The sierra shines like winter moons.
Crops fertile in her valley's wombs;
Her craters fill as waters preen.

The sierra shines like winter moons.
Wayfarers naked lie pristine.
Her craters fill as waters preen.
Lava cradles lull the lagoons.

Wayfarers naked lie pristine;
Luminous winds erode their wounds.
Lava cradles lull the lagoons.
Evening drifts by spirit's gleam.

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© 2006 Judith Terzi