It's Still Life

The Happy and Sad Side of Things

I’ve never been to Nicaragua
but I’ve seen photos —
those red tile roofs and narrow streets
and church fronts and spires
and bells that I suppose ring on the hour
like our church bells do, and
ivy-laced trees and stone arched bridges
over near-dry creeks
that swell when it rains like ours do,
and hills that brighten
with a sudden dawn and idle children,
bored with too little to do,
and perhaps their life is not as picturesque
as these photos suggest,
much like ours, I suppose, don’t do too,
but villagers there and
here, we’re both glad for common good
and harvests and family
and celebrations and abundance,
although our church
wasn’t built by the Spanish, and we’ve
had far fewer revolutions.

Poetic Asides Day 19: an abundance poem