San Gabriel Valley Poetry Quarterly

Gerda Govine Ituarte
VIA DE GUADALUPE|SOUTH OF THE BORDER   

He appeared inside a blink   walked out of the vineyard

sun at his back   elbowed a space in my eyes   curiosity
took hold   breeze whistled softly   silence expectant 
                            
wore beige linen suit   white shirt no collar         white       
mexican cowboy hat   band that matched caramel
suede vest   brown leather satchel tilted shoulder
  
feet in leather cowboy boots   too cool to sweat   
friend’s voice plucked me out of trance   hi luis
introduced as artist   shook my hand slowly   earth
 
shifted   rattled   heart on lockdown  he began to draw  
captured last light of day   headed towards pulsating  
music   he joined us   danced like wild fire   partners
 
breathless   pulled on to dance floor at break neck
speed  skin clothes soaked   band packed up   time
to go  no map   no idea how to find ranch house
  
darkness veiled winding roads   he showed the way   friend
and I checked out loft upstairs   he sprawled out fully clothed
on downstairs couch   went back grabbed my bag   on the
 
way up said you don’t have to go upstairs stay with me  
stopped turned   in your dreams buddy in your dreams    he
chuckled   I was annoyed   fell in and out of sleep   luis and
 
my friend were contenders for who snored the loudest and
longest   both tied for second place   first place won by heavy
trucks as they sliced through the night