Adobo Criollo Sergio Antonio Ortiz Rivera

The flood stopped after nineteen days. Men emerged from mud. Built their houses on vigorous trees they later called The Tree of Life . That's how they worked. We, chastened crows, wait for the sun to solidify the earth.

Forgotten He arrived from Lebanon ready to repair and sell carpets. Gold and ruby fibers put the mystery of time to rest. He doesn't know the twentieth century will part like a blizzard, same as every other. When night barges in without hands ticking won't be necessary ―mountains and magical mango trees, will shed the light  of a lost recollection. Blood says nothing of his Maronite prayers or of his grief in an old Kobayat alley where he scattered his childhood. But a longing for an Arabic call to prayer is rare.

3 Poems up at The Basil O' Flaherty