I heard the bells ring out their clanging hollow history of the minute.
Then slowly with feminine grace reached out to embrace the morning;
Stretched my arms and ran my hands across the smoothness
of the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets.
They were clean and soft with a lovely fresh, almost floral…
I paused to drink in the fragrance…
Or maybe it was the bougainvillea mingling with café con leche
Like lovers whose scent is swirled together, making his and hers into theirs.
Whatever this enticing aroma, it slipped through the mosquito netting,
Kissed my senses and caressed my lips into a smile
As it swayed through this Mexican mountain village
Like a seductive dance on the wind
In a prayer that is everywhere, but especially here.
My hands felt weak, clumsy from sleep I tried to grasp my voluptuous pillow,
Turned down the ample corner to see past my billowy bedding,
“There must be a clock somewhere…”
Latent listening as the chorus chimed from the second and third cathedrals
Hilltop echoes dream-waking with this delicate delight
Ringing at intermittent intervals; giving me a choice of time.
Like a patient parent that counts to three for
Their children to respond with obedience.
I had my option of 7:00, :01, :02 to believe
That morning was here
And I was there,
And we were both on San Miguel time.© Una-Melina // Worthy Books & Things, 2002.