Barbary Dove

I don´t need to visit Africa,
climb Kilimanjaro, or bathe
in the Limpopo River.

On Friday
she is in my ankles,
travels to the knees whenever I stand
in front of a Barbary Dove.
Saturday night,
Africa
boogaloo’s her way to my waist.
by mid Sunday
she jabs a shoulder.
Monday
she gazelles to an elbow
and later creeps down to the waist.
On Tuesday,
I hop on one foot,
then another.
Slowly,
my arm rises and Africa
is inside my fist.

But at midnight, when Wednesday
turns into Thursday
she steals my heart and beats
like rada drums
in the ceremonies
of the vodoum.







©  Sergio A. Ortiz, Publisher: Flutter Press, 2009

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