Miraf'lores, Lima Perú © WORDS 209
LINES 29
by Camincha
I come
down to the Coast that has the seducing curves of my
morena, who sings, Tamales calientiiiiiitos!!!!!!!! Through
the streets of my city on Saturday nights. And the voice
of my cholo with his eagle–beak nose, skin the color of mud,
my color. My Inca whistles at my door. Sharpens my knives
and
scissors big and small.
Miraflores.
I come
down to the Coast. To blue, green eyes. Full bearded
Europeans. The cafe latte skin of my criollas and criollos.
To
flat streets that roll to the ocean. To its white foam. To
the heat
of its shade. The tears of its garüa. The corner of La Picaronera.
The callejon next door. The European chalet. The Gardens of
La DiagonaL Ice cream from D'onofrio.
The church across
Parque Central. The benches of Alameda Pardo. Sunday's
promenades. The British-Peruvian school, blue uniform, hat,
white shirt, red tie. Ferocious exams. Matinees at the Excelsior:
The cowboy and the girl.
.
Miraflores.
I come
down to the Coast. I take El Expresso to go to Lima, El Urbanito
to El Mercado
Central, to La Tiendecita
Blanca where our mothers
bought Chantilly Creme to decorate birthday cakes, and still
serves
butifarras, paltas rellenas, tamales, empanadas, humitas.
Memories jump
through the intersection of' Larco and Pardo, f'ive blocks
in diameter,
with a rainbow of flowers in its center. Walk to Schell St.
where my school,
San Jorge, used to be, then to Porta St. that saw my growing
up years.
El Terrazas Club still a block away, looking forward to its
next Carnavales
Festival. Would you like to dance? sounds in my head. Dance?
His
eyes full of
adoration. EI Malecón gives me his cliffs that roll to the
Pacific while the scent of jasmine, dahlias, sweet peas,
honeysuckle,
sweet narcissus, stalk my steps … Miraflores, my Miraflores.
END
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