May poems

Enjoy! The photos, if nothing else.

Making Pizza in Debi’s kitchen

Pizza making shared
tricks. Chatter, laughing, singing
in Debi’s kitchen.

Debi playing in her kitchen

On the bus

Easy Cajón morning, after
warm-ups, gardening,
reading, early lunch, nap
catch afternoon bus
an hour to San Jose,
three o’clock appointment
Clinica Biblica.

Out by four, taxi
to terminal de Grecia
catch the 4:53 too late
to miss traffic.
Just a few people but
along the route
the bus fills up
standing room only
crawling down the autopista
until people start
to straggle off.

Two hours back home
exhausted just riding
energy enough only
for a couple of drinks,
cold cuts, bed
sleep in next morning
’till six.

Tico friends, neighbors
do this every day
get up around four
get up next day
and do the same
over and over
again and again
day after day.

As a young man
I did the same
commute, study, work,
got high, no time
for nada.
Crazy waste
of a life.

Came down
with el gripe,
too close to
too many people,
laid me up
couple of days.

Lluviosa afternoon

Lightening cuts jagged
thunder cracks crashes rumbles
sofa dog whimpers

Oblivious

Sloped field, old coffee trees
ripped out during the dry season
one man chain saw screaming
trims back poro trees seeking
just the right amount of shade
another drags the limbs away
getting ready to replant.
Above their heads
a Hoffman’s woodpecker
speckled back golden nape
female, no red
hops along a dead branch.

Planting time

This morning the wind blows
odd for this season
still the soil now
soft and moist.
When the muchachas finish
I’ll visit viveros
gathering plants
for the butterflies.

Butterfly garden

Passionflower

Red passionflower

Joy of cooking

Yesterday friends
intimidated by
a leg of lamb
dropped it off
for us to cook,
tonight’s dinner.

What could be simpler
rub of salt pepper
fresh rosemary garlic
a little mustard, umami
roast rare, rare.

All those years
of evenings sweating
in a kitchen
not completely wasted.

May, early morning

Four men —
white shirts against hillside
three blue backpack sprayers
the one walks
down rows across tosses
a handful of fertilizer
at the base of each plant
left then right.

Two men —
red shirts
white caps
groom, pick tomatoes
rows protected from rain
by strips of plastic sheets
stretched above.

Above
parakeets
bright green
flock
first one way
then the other
no place to be.

The girl with the patch on her pants

This young girl —
blond frizzy hair
legs apart raised
on high-heeled platforms
bold patch at her crotch
stares at me smiling
from the frame on my desk.
Why bother
with a gray-haired old man
too exhausted even
to think?

For two hours yesterday
I worked hard
in the garden, hard
as a young man
hard as the young man
working beside me.
Two hours.

That girl
wouldn’t waste glances
on a man who wants only
to lie out stretching
on pillows floating
flesh sweetly aching
wanting only
to let go
drift away.

That girl!

Dreams

Morning peaceful
still afternoon
thunderstorms to come.
Waking hours not
troubled by reflection
of times past
and past failings.

Nothing special

Gentlest
of morning breezes.
In the pines
a woodpecker hammers.
Parakeets fly
up the canyon
four, a pair, six.
Against the blue western sky
vultures glide
one, two, three, now four.
In the garden
myriad butterflies
flit about
visiting flowers.
Yigüirro lilt
punctuates the chorus
of countless exotic songs.
Across the canyon
flash of a machete blade
a man hacking brush
around the tomato patch.

Emergence

This morning I watched
a Juno silverspot eclose
from a chrysalis hanging
on the taller wall,
cling there awhile
then fly off.

Down the path
a hundred black larvae
teeming together
passionflower leaves,
multicolored lantana,
a hundred butterflies swarming.

If our new imago
happens to be female
she’ll be mated
almost immediately
the texts say Nature
hates a virgin.

Butterfly lineage
like ours stretching back
to the first time a protein
mirrored itself.
Brief lives, civilizations
spandrels of the real game.

Chrysalis on taller wall

Butterfly larvae feasting on passionflower leaves

 

Light show

Far to the south
lightening flashes soundless
backlighting, footlighting
towering clouds.
Above, stars in the black.
Chirping quietly, crickets.
The gentle roar
of the swollen little
Rio San Juan.

Planting coffee

On the hillside
across the canyon
five men wearing hats
droopy wide-brimmed
or with neck shades
plant coffee.

One wears
on his back
a sprayer, Italian
rounds up the weeds
up & down the rows.

A second follows
lugging matas
in a plastic milk crate
drops them in holes
already dug.

A third carries
two bottles
sprinkling in the holes
a little nematicide
a little fertilizer.

Two strip
black plastic bags
off the root balls
of little coffee trees
pack them in the holes.

The farmer next to us
has cleared some of his land
of old coffee trees
pruned up cleaned up
holes dug.

Hoping some day
coffee will pay off.

Planting coffee in the jungle

Maria

Short a few teeth
thickened with age
but still plenty spry
to clamber the steep steps
up to her crumbling
San Luis house
Maria grows orchids.

Hundreds, tiny ones
sheltered, in pots
Hundreds more, bigger ones
perched out in the trees
growing in her garden
mixing with flowers
stretching up from below.

Makes her own growing mix
lava rock, charcoal
rotting wood, simple.
Sends me home
with a sack
a couple of orchids
a hug, a kiss.

Newly “planted” orchids in our orchid garden