MEDELLIN critiques welcome
I walk these blazing, yellow-white streets
because their song
lulls me to a walking, rhythmic, waking sleep;
red, brown, and blue plaid uniformed
school children and half naked children
are just a strange dream
playing in noisy harmony.
And although the violence and massacres
are hidden in foreign T.V. screens,
I smell a certain violence in these streets
that sleepwalks with the children
and stalks old, leather men
bearing horse-drawn crates of fruit.
And when the mad mango sun subsides
to the mountains, which bleed diluted
pink-orange like the sidewalk, stained
with a multitude of fallen blossoms, crushed
beneath bare or strappy sandaled feet,
the mountains cut the sky to cradle Medellin
till once again the yellow dawn breaks in.