Little Townhouse on the Prairie
In the evening the geese and the small engine planes
start their descent from the west to the east.
I sit on the deck facing the Lutheran church where the
sign announcing the Reverend so and so is highlighted
from a mile away.
The cars rush by and I count them as I did when I was a kid
in Los Angeles. How many red cars pass by. How many blue?
The dog barks at nothing at all.
It turns dusk at 4:30 PM and supper has been already been served
and eaten as if it were a 5 course meal in New York. Or Miami.
Except we left Miami a long time ago.
And before that we left Cuba.
Settling in a new territory is nothing new.
If we left Cuba, we can leave anything.
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Author's Note
A new collection of poems I am sharing here first.
Other stories by Dulce Maria Menendez
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Lovely, poignant.
Ha! Great.
Title ALONE got a "Face" ...
;)
Nice
*
Awaiting the "more," with pleasant anticipation after this...
"If we left Cuba, we can leave anything."
Great piece, Didi. And yes, looking forward to more.
*
Leaves a gentle feeling behind. I also love the last two lines.