Precious

She comes to watch me paint, asks how I learned

to draw? I smile, tell her, “watching the birds whose colors

adorn your huipil.” I always wanted to learn, she says,

shyly. A confession of leaves of trees in the blood of

her veins. We share a moment of connected silence,

under that tree, in that park. She watches my hand move

as I make details come alive. Her boyfriend approaches,

a young man of arms sculpted like a trap you never escape.

Come, he tells her, you have better places to be. Takes her arm.

Roughly. She is a butterfly flying into a dust storm. You don’t

need to talk to strangers, you have me. The tourist next to me

asks, in English, “Do you understand Spanish?”

Before I can answer, she sighs. “Their clothes are so pretty,

aren’t they? So tiny, so precious. Everything here

is just like a postcard. They’re all dolls.”  A moment of

disconnected silence passes. Through clenched teeth,

I respond, “Yes, I understand Spanish.”

Author's Note

For reference, a "huipil" (pronounced "wee-pil") is a [usually hand-embroidered] traditional blouse worn by many indeigenous women of Guatemala.

I was asked to write an impactful shorter piece. I was inspired by the form of a poem I read somewhere else "Good Bones," and let my inspiration there guide this one.

This is the translation from the original in Spanish, which can be found here:

http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/zorra_encantada/1906633/

The photo is my own, from a day working in the field in 2016. The photo is of a woman wearing a huipil.

This poem was published in Spanish in the newspaper Queztalteco on May 13, 2017. It was my first ever entry selected for publication in Guatemala, where I live and work.

Reviews

[wordman]

a little girl with an eager mind watching you paint and draw,
as you explain where colors and images come into your mind

[Marie Anzalone]

thanks, wordman- yes, this is part of the story. The other part is cultural appropriation and pure racism.

[wordman]

yeah,i kinda avoided it,i hate people like her boy friend

[Marie Anzalone]

and I am coming to despise people like that tourist, too :-)

[wordman]

well when you deal with people you never know do you,but when the crap starts it`s time to move on

[Samuel Baker Oyenga]

your writtings are all beautiful and to the depth, I adore the descriptions and the rhythm its actually amazing

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you very much, Samuel, for the kind words about my work.

[kmartell]

The days color hides the world sometimes. Our final inner need is to love, is to make something better and to change all the bad to good. Very good and important poem, you have put your finger upon the thing that must be said.

[Marie Anzalone]

Wow k it is so nice to hear from you again! You are soright- it is so easy to withold our love and understanding from the world. I see it all the time in such thinly veiled shallowness. Funny what the ego can hide from the world, isn't it?

[Richard simpson]

Very nice poem it's great to see culture in writing and exploring the depths of unknown realms of reassurance and doubt. The writing style is well put and given a chance to shine in it's glory. Well done.

[Marie Anzalone]

thanks, Richard, for your thoughtful review. In my work, I do try to look beyond the surface and touch some uncomfortable themes, and I have been tyign to tackle more the issues you mention of culture. I always like to try to show more than tell, ad let the reader make up his/ her own mind how to feel. I think gives greate rpower if the reader has to work to understand how he is reacting- just as we all do when we meet those strangers on a park bench. I appreciate you taking the time with this one. This is a true story.