She is a baroque,
a pearl with an irregular shape
her eyes, green and blue
depending on the angle of the light
from where you stood
She was exotic, unfamiliar
but beauty that unnerved,
imperfection that soothed,
a mixture of colors, a mestiza
from the land that was conquered
She was not comfort, alone
but lit by the eyes of those
who could not look away, harmony
that took hours to understand;
by then it was too late
She is too poor, you cannot
help her; she does not want
your help; she loves a poor man
instead; he hit her and she left;
still you cannot live there with her
She is too young; uneducated,
her father left her mother and had
another child; her mother is poor
there is nothing but dishes and
the people who complain about her
She is a pearl, washed ashore
living in darkness, inside a hardened
womb, an ornament, waiting;
who might one day find her, a
fisher of souls or a lustful man?
