sla de las ujeres

No one sees my shop, La Curiosidad, without coming in
at least once. I repaint every other year;
aqua, magenta, lemon, burnt orange and viridian
--with the bougainvillea, a garden lit by sand.
Necklaces, pins, bracelets of beach glass
are my most popular items, along with the candles,
cigarettes, milagros and beer I stock for locals.
The back room overflows with the dioramas
I can't stop making: sea-palaces of coral, abalone,
mirrors from India, bells from Nepal, fetishes
from anywhere, rusted scraps, and bleached plastic.

The bus stops here since I paid the driver
(who has a running tab) to paste my poster
in his cab between the Virgin of Guadalupe
and Michael Jackson under the banner
proclaiming Dios es amor.

The village women do not pray for me,
know less than the fishermen and sailors
who bring Ouzo and California champagne.
I listen to their stories, and make more curious
the curiosities they bring me, but they are drawn
because I look at each as if
he were the most beautiful man in the world;
I do nothing else for their favors.
I know the women call me La Diosa del Mar,
but I've brought business: I'm tolerated.
Besides, they don't see me at the nude beach
Because I go on new-moon-nights
when I visit the froth of the sky
and dream I am awake
--and that is where I find the blueprints for my creations.

I came to this island because I loved the name
and to finish writing Twilight of the Chameleons
before Richard Burton or Liz Taylor died.
I came here to fly under the bright water,
to balance on the ancient observatories,
to climb the ruins again and again
until my head shimmered in the glare.
This place has taught me the gyphography of blue.

I saved a little, now make a little, rent rooms
to friends of friends, by the hour, the day, the week
and warn them to be careful -- the day can turn to weeks,
the weeks to months, like the sound of the sea
which set me adrift, although my sister, old friends
try to talk me home.
Am I too old for this?
I did not lead an adventurous youth.

They were right that I came here to wed solitude,
--a lush embrace of grief,
endless as the possibility of finding my soul;
endlessly possible because I can see
I never will.