Christie Shary

Poetry - Coming Home to Laguna

Coming Home to Laguna

The same surf, the same sand,
The unchanged cobalt blue water.
But I am not the same person who left.
Like an old coper pot, I've tarnished with age too soon.
Yet I've grown in my 'new life.'

Mexico has tempered me.
Made me see more than row after row of 'cookie cutter'
Houses facing the Pacific.
More than BMW's, Mercedes and Porsches,
Flower gardens perfectly aligned.

Now I see the sad brown eyes of little barefoot
Children begging pesos,
I hear the timeless rhythms of Aztec chants, Mariachi music.
I smell corn roasting over charcoal,
Steaming tamales and grilled carne asada,
Instead of coffee bars, and marinated 'fat-free' chicken.
I taste papaya, the sweet tartness of mangoes,
Black Mexican coffee laced with 'real' cream.

I no longer view the clean, clear-cut horizon of the Pacific.
Some days it is haze, unfiltered smoke stacks
Their refuge defiling a land so beautiful.
A land filled with pine-clad mountains, white powdery beaches,
And volcanoes,
The enchantment of ancient pyramids and lovely colonial cities
Crowded with cathedrals and bouganvilla-filled courtyards
Along their cobbled streets.

I feel the need to cry, but my tears no longer fall.
Does it mean I have become hardened?
No, that's not it.
For I am now under the 'enchanted spell' of Mexico.