Vacilando

papaya

On the way to Cochabamba,

and just as the heat

from the white sun overhead

began to burn

through the silk scarf

you gave me to cover

my bare thighs,

we pulled off the main road

to eat the papaya

I bought for us

the day before.

“Cada pequeña semilla es un deseo,” you said

and held up, between forefinger and bruised thumb,

one glistening dark seed for me to consider.

“Do you mean that each little seed is a priori a wish granted?” I asked.

¿Qué significa a priori, cariña?” you wanted to know, and laughed.

Later, when we awoke from our naps

and a late afternoon breeze tousled

the dark curls that had fallen so sweetly

across your forehead,

I leaned over to kiss

each one

and to whisper,

“What if we just stay here?”

Photo

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