Chiste triste

In that forest too sad for birds,
the women have nothing but color.

They squat by the road in indigo skirts,
wrapped in rainbow shawls.

The court-yards of tourist hotels
hold flocks of wing-clipped macaws.

In their cages, too sad for words,
the quetzals are nothing but color.


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.