|By Camincha Benvenutto|
|Almost every day I look for her. There are traces of her. The nose, prominent, the eyebrows perfectly arched, the sensual lips, the high cheekbones.|
There are traces of her but sometimes I have to look hard. Yet, other times she appears in all her glory and I wonder if it’s a memory, superimposedin the mirror,
My own idea of what used to be that I see today.
|And I marvel at the road you traveled, the distance, the enormous distance in pain, in rewards, in debts paid, in goals accomplished. Marvel at the way you carried that load. Marvel at how light you were on your feet, how you turned, pivoted. The sensuality in that hip movement, that rhythm I marvel at the inner music that made them sway like that. Marvel at the inner strength that held your eyes mischievous, your head high, your hips rhythmic, your steps light and enjoy the compliments you received: |
Looking you up and down that day the guy smiled deep into your eyes: Well, HELLO LEGS!
|Then stopped you and said: Where‘r you from? Are you… Spanish? ‘ ‘ ‘Cause you have that, you know? You have that, ah … like you really have it that, like… a movie star.|
|When I look for you in the mirror superimposed, all those images. I find you. That woman, my mother one and the same still.|
(Camincha Benvenutto is the poet laureate for Pacifica. She shares a poem with Pacifica Tribune readers every month.)