Tuesday, June 26, 2012

ABOVE THE MILPA


As the sun insinuates its presence
we cut through cornfields called milpa by local farmers
following our guide whose machete devours
intrusive vegetation that is not corn
to reach the water source which is to become
the base for a new water system

We are the modernizers who came
from civilization headquarters to improve
the quality of life of campesinos who managed
to quench their thirst for centuries
before we knew of their existence

Nevertheless they welcome
the system that will allow them water
without having to break their backs to transport it
to wash the few clothes they own
to bathe their children —
dirt not being their main problem

They will learn how to care for the system
how much to charge for monthly fees
what is fair what is not what is justifiable

They will be more civilized
They will beat their wives more often
for these don’t have the excuse
for dinner being late because of having
to fetch water at the spring
Once they take us above the milpa

They will have more free time
to mingle and drink in the town’s cantinas
for they don’t have to watch day and night
that their crops don’t get too dry
When they take us above the milpa

Published in Untamed Ink No 1 

Saturday, July 23, 2011

CUMBIA

CUMBIA

Red                                                                                  
white
lace  
ribbons
colors
a candle
skirt hem
in hands
outstretched
to the stars
light
of bonfires
feet and hips
subtle moves
elegance
drums
maracas
flutes
a touch
of tropic
a slice
of rhythm
a shot
of rum
a pinch
of the sea
palm trees
a smile
pride
grace
ancestry
Native Indian
Criollo
& African

CUMBIA



By María T. Balogh: Published in Untamed Ink

Wednesday, July 13, 2011

CARIBBEAN DANCING

 Drums and millet flutes rule
the damp iodized evening spent

beneath palm trees & thatched awnings


Hips in sync with the murmur

of contagious hypnotic tunes     

turning quickly thunderous


Bodies coming together

in a frenzy of sensual jolts

tight sinuous embraces


Pairs of thighs merge indistinguishable

chests inseparable shoeless feet entangled

one candescent respiration & slippery perspiration


One mass of swim shorts and suits

One blend of fabric colors blues yellows

becoming greens over oscillating flesh
           

& when dawn begins to blink

            & the roosters awake in the distance

& the drums & the songs of flutes fade 
 

some depart

                 still strangers

others do not

Published by Bad Shoe

Monday, June 27, 2011

WOMAN ON THE SIDEWALK

Asleep at noon
on the sidewalk —
skin and bones in
baggy shorts
baggy t-shirt
and dirt

Under your head,
you clutch a bag
with your belongings —
a tin bowl, tooth-brush
perhaps another shirt

Your sheet, an old plastic sack
that someone used in the past
to carry yuca to the market

The rusted truck cabin,
you used as shelter before,                                     
collected by the city
in a futile effort
to gentrify the area

Exiled to the sidewalks,
you sleep when & where you can
your exhausted mornings
after a night of servicing
truckers at nearby filling stations




By María T. Balogh: published in Spanish by Grafemas

Thursday, June 23, 2011

Will You Feel Safer

WILL YOU FEEL SAFER

If I don’t linger
in your bookstore aisles
flipping pages
or taking extra time
finding the correct
size or color in your
department store
if I don’t feel
the fabric texture
of the pants you sell
forcing you to pretend
to work nearby
neglecting your job
to keep an eye on me

Will you be at ease
if I don’t call your
business phone
and ask you in
accented tongue
to clean my house
to fix my washer
to mow my lawn
to work in my yard
to mend my shoes

Will you be surprised
if I reveal to you
my occupation
if I tell you
of my hobbies
if I am not pushing
a custodian’s cart
or holding a mop
broom or brush
and I am instead
about to lecture
at a science convention


By María T. Balogh --published in Bellerive 2007

Friday, June 17, 2011

Bus Peddlers

BUS PEDDLERS

They sell you candy
They sell you prayers
            They sell you their sisters

They sell you water in bags
They sell you pastries unwrapped
            They sell you their mothers

They sell you fruit
They sell you songs
They sell you themselves

They sell you anger
            They sell you guilt
They sell you their shame

By María T. Balogh (Spanish version published in Revista Bacanal)

 

Sunday, June 12, 2011

Summer

SUNSHINE DAYDREAM (Delmar Loop, St. Louis MO)

I walk into the store
& wish I’d been born
            a decade earlier


SUMMER

Cat looks down
            at molehill
                        bent paw mid-air