I.
I
look
into
deep brown eyes
and see the good earth.
They are the color of the ground
after my papí plows land in the first spring days.
In them I see the trees, for they are the color of bark in the early morning sun.
In them I see the sea, for they are the color of the water as it turns with sand and shells in the broken waves along the mid-day shore.
I love the plowed ground, walking through the cool dirt with bare feet; the bark of the trees, climbing the smooth branches, shirtless in the heat of the day; the sea, floating naked in the gently rocking waters of the ev’ning tide; her brown eyes
II.
Her brown eyes create a warm space inside of me.
Her brown eyes are the earth, the rows my abuelo and I walk every day to pick tomatoes and peaches from the fields and orchards on the Johns Island farms.
Her brown eyes are my abuela’s blanket, the one she sewed for me in the beautiful mountains of El Salvador.
Her brown eyes are warm, earthy and beautiful.
I see her brown eyes.
Her brown eyes see me.
III.
brown eyes,
the color of the plowed ground
in the countryside,
the color of the smooth bark
of the guava trees
on the farms,
are beautiful
brown eyes
grow
humble beans
that fill empty plates
like gifts
from hands
that picked them
brown eyes
produce
bountiful guavas
that hang from trees
like gifts
from hands
that planted them
beautiful, brown eyes
IV.
The curves of her body were the gently rolling hills below the mountains where he lived as a boy.
Her brown eyes were the deep soil of the farmland.
She was beautiful like the land, the yellow flowers he found as he roamed the countryside barefooted, the green trees that sparkled after heavy rain.
They listened to the sound of rain on the window of the hotel in the old part of the city.
They made love to the flashing lightning and rolling thunder of the morning storm beside the sea.
V.
I Love the Handful of the Earth You Are
She lay
on her back,
he lay
between her knees,
on the warm, wet
earth,
kissing her thighs softly,
lips
lightly
brushing
skin.
Amo el trozo de tierra que tú eres,
porque de las praderas planetarias
otro estrella no tengo tú repites
la multíplicación del universo.
I love the handful of the earth you are.
Because of it's meadows, vast as a planet,
I have no other star. You are my replica
of the multiplying universe.
She closed
her eyes
to the stars
and felt
the light
inside
of her.
VI.
“To understand just one life, you have to swallow the world.” - Salmon Rushdie
She held his hand.
“For someone so small and frail,
he has big, strong hands,” she thought as her fingers intertwined his.
When you're a migrant kid, and you spend your life picking peaches and tomatoes in the hot South Carolina sun, your hands grow like the fruits and vegetables of summer, but the rest of your body withers away like the vines of fall.
He squeezed her hand, and she could feel the beating of his heart in her hand, and she felt it deeply inside of her, and she turned and looked at him.
He could feel tenderness deeply inside of him, as he looked into her brown eyes.
When you're a native kid in the Arctic, and you spend your life building and mending under the small sun of frozen days, your heart grows beautiful and mysterious, like the great bowhead whales under the ice, but the rest of you bends against the harsh, bitter winds of the ocean.
They both turned again and looked out over the water at the setting sun.
Tears welled up in the corners of their eyes and dropped down their frozen cheeks into the icy Chukchi Sea.
For the first time in their lives, they knew human kindness, they felt the warmth of love.
VII.
Hold each other.
Kiss passionately,
tenderly.
Make love in colors,
intense
yellows,
reds,
blues
softer
oranges,
purples,
greens
beauty
Hold each other
closely,
come
and become
VIII.
The ground
rocks me
gently,
back and forth,
up and down,
round and round,
arms,
legs,
body,
lips.
I pour myself
into the ground,
heart,
soul,
mind,
body.
Nothing
is left
but colors,
breath,
life.
Everything.
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