The Other Maria

Maria, guardian of a thousand year tradition

with your ageless olive face

and lips ajar just so,

I am eating chilli tortillas from the bag

and thinking of you

exhorting us to discover hidden secrets

experiences, itineraries,

with your lips apart as if to speak

(though in this guise you are always silent).

I think of you, Maria,

and my mouth grows chilli-hot.

You emerge from darkness

and from smoke, your hair

gathering to a halo.