I almost forgot I brought
with me tonight
this pocket notebook
to jot down the world
and revise it later
under the silence of lamp light.
The gossipy stroll
of women across the plaza,
the neon-lit cross
like a badge of faith
atop the church, the baby
holding my gaze from the colorful sling
on its mother’s back,
the heel-click and hum of the man
on this park bench who politely waits
for me to finish my Jello cup
before practicing his English—
all this becomes adjectives with lines
through them and arrows
redirecting nouns and verbs
to their proper place on the page
when I return to my hotel room.
When I arrive to each strange city
my head is full of lawless words
and thought police
who direct traffic with
exaggerated swinging arms,
a shiny whistle loose on their lips.
It’s as if each town is chaos until observed,
etched in lead on yellow paper,
and rearranged before bed.
When I wake in the morning
nothing is the same,
the postman is not lost on the corner
and taxi drivers patiently wait
to let the girl with the red bonnet
cross the street.
LOCATION: Puno, Peru
