White Gladiolus
Houses red, houses blue,
and houses orange,
the happy colors,
trimmed with magenta and red Bougainvillea
Each posed in primary colors
waiting for the post card photo.
The floor of the outdoor room
covered with pots
of cherry colored geraniums.
Laundry lines filled in the first sun,
for drying before the coming clouds of dust.
Dogs of many yellows sleep where the
roof meets the banister walls
drawing the first warmth of the winter day.
The morning streets wake
to the smell of tamales,
chilies and refried beans.
The slap, slap of tortillas
provide the rhythm for a breakfast concert
as they are placed on the charcoal fed grill.
Stooped old women greet each other
with warm morning hugs .
A flatulent bus moves from a curb
a progress marker between the donkey cart
loaded with fresh cut hay and the
travelers in roaring jet overhead .
The church bells ring the authoritative
voice of the angels.
The sun strikes the golden bell tower
a holy token from
the pious four centuries ago.
Slow walkers dressed in widow's black
parade from the church yard
headed to the cemetery carrying
white gladiolus
for the recently dead.
In this is a land where the living
are cherished
and the dead not forgotten.
Generation after generation build upon
the previous one,
tied together with
white gladiolus.