Alicia Viguer-Espert

Corona from the Window

 

I watched a masked old man pass by my window

Worries crowded his forehead.

At that light changing hour

A capricious sun abandoned some of its rays

On the deserted street

Snagged on wrought iron gates, windowsills,

The canopies of jacaranda trees.

 

This dance didn’t last,

Eventually rays tore themselves upwards,

Disappeared without a sound.

 

I continued seated behind the glass,

A large coyote moved slowly looking ahead,

Followed by two skinny ones,

Miraculous flapping lifted crows

from the power lines.

 

A pattern of redness covered the skin of clouds,

Reminded me of a flowery dress

Woven in my city  

Where silkworms made it prosper.

In that city

One could admire splendorous brocades

Still worn by women during festivities.

Until a plague killed the Mulberry trees,

Their way of life,

Like today.

 

I try to read

The old man’s concerns stenciled on his forehead

While families, I don’t see, count small bills,

Fearful,

Will we have a meal next week?

Who will die?

I wonder whether the planet will heal

and wealth’s distribution even out,

Want to champion transparency

for air and water when it’s over.

It gives me hope to imagine

Groups of women taking the lead

So, we could survive, thrive,

together.   

 

Previously published by River Paw Press; Oxygen, Parables of the Pandemic, June, 2022