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