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Poetry by
Connie Mastrobuono
Country: USA
Mexican Eyes
When I think of gray hair
sunlight glints off the bleached walls
of downtown Zihuatanejo.
And just for a moment
the smells and sounds jostle
each other like old friends
walking together in the gathering dusk
of a Mexican day.
I think of gray hair and those mysteries
both aging and paradise conceal
behind the heavy doors of Casa de la Sol,
it’s shaded courtyard,
tucked like a curled up iguana
in the small cove just north of the bay.
And when I grow tired of thinking altogether,
I let my mind drift south of the border
where I sit idly on the beach in front of La Perla,
deep in the dappled shade close to the waiters,
the chicken tacos, the noisy parrots,
and the bottomless margaritas.
connie
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