Aug 11, Mid-Afternoon, the Courtyard
I'm lying under the giant mango tree, pouring rum
in small, continuous amounts into my limonada
when something makes me look up, see the two maids,
Rosario and Concepcion, staring at me,
giggling softly into their hands. There's something
vividly unreal about them, as if they had suddenly
materialized out of nowhere, like Indians
in a rain forest. And then I realize it's because
I've never seen them out in the open like this, only flitting
from room to room like shadows, waiting to show themselves
to Mercedes' nephew: the one who always comes alone,
sits under the mango tree all afternoon listening to love songs.
Who says Gracias, Por Favor too much, who has been counting
every brick in the house, one by one, since he came here.
Ah yes, Senor Justin, look at him: sometimes, when he's alone,
when he thinks no one's looking, you can see him
trying to crawl out of his eyes.