Donít you remember how I fell off the panga
at La Roca di Isabel, my Travelsmith outfit
sagging down my hips, this old gringa
grasping for her pants and a bit of dignity?
Or the parrots that flew through the kitchen
while I sizzled up tough chicken and tortillas?
Or the daily search for scorpions, and our bed
swinging from rafters under the palapa roof?
I tell you, those were some glory days.
Serene blue toilet edged by blooming ginger,
the shower with one wall of red bougainvillea.
Clanking water pipes. I could live like that.
Especially with resident cats ambling through
and the swoosh of the big bamboo. Will you
ever come away with me for good?