Oaxaca Morning on My Way to Spanish Class
Bluebell sky, time-polished bricks
buildings that trumpet notes
of carmine and mustard,
marigold and sangría
brilliant as the vegetable dyes
of Oaxacan rugs
too perfect for any floor.
Soft air soothes after a sleepless night
strafed by electronic music
from a girl’s extravagant Quinceañera –
all joy to her. This air tickles me awake
and I remember Fifteen – doors opening,
and my heart’s timid birdsong.
I want to tell her:
Someday you will land here,
most of your choices made,
picking your fiestas carefully,
ambling toward the new language
you are loving to learn.
Sandra Kacher, a poet from Minnesota,comes to writing poetry after years of hearing about the inner lives of hundreds of therapy clients. Touched by Mary Oliver and heartened by Billy Collins, she brings a heart for beauty and an ear for music to her writing. Her poetry shares the ways she is moved by nature, human life and all the flotsam that catches her eye. As an older poet she is shaped daily by intimations of mortality, and most of her work is touched by loss – past or to come. Poetry keeps her open, fights off cynicism in a world that often leaves her listless.
See more of her work in 8.3