MARCH -- BEGINNING A BAJA ADVENTURE

LIKE CELLS IN A SINGULAR ORGANISM

Packed tight on the plane,

every seat filled,

even the aisle crowded with cart,

somehow

I feel strangely at one

with this bunch –

the bent, elderly oriental woman,

the black with chains hanging from his waist,

the muscle man in tank top and tattoos,

the pert young girl budding her breasts,

the homely woman next to me

munching a bar of dark chocolate,

            even myself.

And, like cells in a singular organism

we swim our way across a common sky

sinking into the sunset.

Sometimes, I wonder why

I avoid, can’t stand, and seek isolation

from this humanly mass. 

Sometimes with a glass of wine

we’re almost tolerable. 

THE GOOD SON

It’s Mother’s birthday, the first one

without her smile, I have

no more wants and very few needs,

and You shouldn’t have.

Now on a plane to LA

and tomorrow another plane to Mexico

to kayak and see whales,

Mother would have approved.

She liked adventure

and took it wherever she could

through the deserts of the Southwest,

the barren hills of the Holy Land,

and across the crowded streets of Europe.

It’s been seven months since her dying

and I smile to recall

her oft repeated travel warnings,
John, don’t drink the water,
watch out for pickpockets,
and be sure

to take all your medications.

Mother, I still hear you!

BAJA, MEXICO (FROM 24,000 FEET)

Brown, wrinkled,

ragged, peaked in white,

coursed by stream beds

long gone dry,

aged, peninsula’d,

surrounded by supple seas

            of leviathans

a land

aching, thirsting

for whatever the gods

            will give

maybe

even love.

FIRST DAY IN LORETO

I was on a roll this early morning

as the sun was up, the skies blue, and the faces

of this Baja desert town friendly. 

On the first person I saw I tried, Hola

and a smile.  It worked.  Walking on, bolder,

I tried, Buenos dias.  That too worked.

I stopped to buy coffee, but didn’t know,

Coffee to go, so tried, Café camino with smile

and that too brought results. 

A merchant washing his sidewalk

nodded to my Buenos dias and gave away

the favor of an agreeable face.

A dusty brown dog gave no notice,

but the time-share salesman did, I’m Felipe

from San Felipe. I’m here to impress you

not depress you.  However, the day brought better

with Mariano the Huichol Indian and his

colorful beads that told the story of his people.

I walked those dusty streets from early

morning through the sleepy afternoon siesta, 

by families eating ice cream and taking

time to smile, and on until the yellowed shadows

of day grew long and my knees

ached for surrender, but not the heart

which found a friend in a small town by the sea. 

OVERHEARD

One day it was, I need to think my thoughts,

not our thoughts.

Then, another time, I’ll talk to you

when your brain comes back.

Ah, the secret joys of eavesdropping.

YEARNING, THIRSTING

Somewhere along the way between Insurgentes

and Lopez Mateos,

on a road that rises and falls in gentle swells

across a brown, desert sea,

and across a parched country of things

that stick and sting

I begin to pay attention to the tall, long-armed

cactus. 

But, it’s not the saguaro with its elbowed arms,

it’s the cardon

standing sentinel tall on this lonely,

arid land

with its long arms reaching

into a blue-eyed sky,

like Adam in the Sistine Chapel painting

yearning for the touch of God

or us thirsting for what we never

quite reach.