“Bougainvilleas and Black Satin Bows” We Write Poems #67 “moving”/ Tuesday Tryouts “walking”: Margo Roby

Reality’s somber aches unfold,
threshold sadness darkens you

Music plays in salsa shakes,
walls collapse in broken swells

Fuchsia weeps graffiti hearts,
engraved in pale peach martyrs

Church bells ring in undertow,
cursing night to mournful howl

process notes:
This is my neighborhood, as I see it. Black satin bows hang above
the main entrance doors of houses, indicating families have lost loved
ones. While Americans mourn death, Mexicans celebrate death, and have monthly pray circles after someone has passed for the first year. In the early evening you can always hear the distant bark of dogs
somewhere. Bougainvillea can be seen everywhere, music comes from all around, and there is a little bit of graffiti, mostly statements of love i.e., “Gabi luvs Ale”


15 responses to ““Bougainvilleas and Black Satin Bows” We Write Poems #67 “moving”/ Tuesday Tryouts “walking”: Margo Roby

  1. Music plays in salsa shakes

    I love this line! This is a nice snapshot of where you live.

  2. Interesting to read the differences between the the way Americans and Mexicans view death! Your poem speaks loudly!

  3. Fascinating images, helped by your great notes! It’s a different world you live in.

  4. What an interesting view into another culture! You paint it in such vivid word-strokes. And your notes are superb, too.

  5. I always love your process notes, Pamela. And, what a great title. I have read a lot about The Day of the Dead but never been in Mexico at the right time.

  6. Each couplet flashed a different, fascinating image–or sound. While your adjectives made them seem unworldly, the clarity of your notes made them beautiful and significant. This is a case where trimming the adjectives would have made the poem bland and dry.

  7. Great little rhythms and images here Pamela; enjoyed it.

  8. Yes, celebration of death is so different from the celebration of life but some similarites too. When my dad visits the cemetary to put flowers on mom’s grave he tells me of the Latinos who sit with family in their folding chairs and eat lunch while visiting their loved ones.

  9. I like the idea of having prayer circles for a year after loved one dies. Mexicans have the right idea! Your poem gives a vivid picture of your neighborhood.

  10. While the color, the texture varies line to line, in tone it is one continous note sounded from beginning to end, as the bells on a tower I can imagine to hear. It is almost like cooking, and so distinctively yours as well Pamela. Good to have your “sight” available like this poem does! Thanks.

  11. Just looking through- belatedly…but very gladly. A poem that resembles a sequence of images – (maybe it is the photographer in me) – I would have loved to have been walking beside you to be able to photograph what you wrote. Thanks again for stopping by… it means a lot. xo teri

I appreciate all comments.

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