Yellow bus memories
Of
summertime and childhood
Takes
me along Western Highway
Seventy
plus miles to then Santa Rosa,
District
of Cayo,
From
City of Belize,
In
Central America
Of
Batty Brothers Bus Line
By
Pound Yard Bridge
Our
point of departure
Jam-packed,
With
excitement
And
Spanish valises
To
chickens up top
Holiday-bound
Belizeans
-to relatives
Tourists
-to ancient sites
Among others
Homeward-bound
Their
well-worn way
From
a long work day
Past
Spanish Lookout
-a
Mennonite town
Where
smiles breakout
As
miles wind down
Humble
homes decorate
Verdant Maya Mountain-scapes
Ah,
I feel a belonging!
Ours,
Santa Rosa
Then,
San Ignacio Town
-all
sculpted by Macal and Mopan
As
if separating Our West
From
Their East
-I
never wondered how we’d gotten along
Oh,
but I couldn’t wait
For
Mama Tina’s
Hand-made
tortillas
Fire-hearth-flavored
In her smoke-filled cocina
Like
her mother’s
And
her mother’s mother’s
For
a daily swim
In
the pebble-bottomed river
Pulsing
through
My
abuelo’s back yard,
Its rocky, tree-lined pathway
Most
likely chiseled by his father
And
his father’s father
For
my cousins,
To
show us their games
My
aunts and uncles,
To
teach us their ways
Gifts
handed down
Memories
of which, to this day,
Abound
Written for Hedgebrook - Weekend Writing Prompt: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151666712086312&set=a.10150264031066312.327232.201509641311&type=1&theater
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