Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

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

Before Darkness: A Trilogy Above We decided to hunt for butterflies on the other side of the fence, between old statues of father, in overgrown grass, the place he kept his untamed calf. Rolling towards the pit, (where civets churn out musk, and the sky gives way to night) was father's code to play, the list of sanctions too long for me to write. We put our catch in glass jars, pushed, touched, and joked in such a way as not to break my father's code. But in the end you kissed another man. Below They rested on the shoulders of statues. He said they perfumed summer with a kind of musk. We took the beautiful ones out of the jar, pierced with a pin and let them dry. The ministry of their wings kept us awake. We disappeared to the other side of the fence where father kept the untamed calf. He unbuttoned my pants. I didn't care, father had been dead for years, dead and all I wanted was another kiss. Between Father's co