quedar

There is a certain vibrant rawness to Cusco that makes me want to dig my heels in to the cobblestone and never look back. I'm perched silently above the city and watch it unfold from this yellow room, the walls are bare and the wood is raw and this in a manner of all senses allows the space for me to sit folded and cloaked  by the city at night and unleash all the colors I have collected. Feeling familiar here fills me up more than food ever could, so instead of taking meals I walk the ascending streets until my calves ache, I sip slowly, and  after gritty Cabernets for dinner  I can draw the thin curtains and still allow the lights from San Blas Plaza to enter in as I paint the walls with a stream of the content I've recorded on my walk about the day. And I try to paint it all before it leaves me- the methodical tones and the streets as crooked as the smiles and the wimba tree. I cup the memory of a mango so ripe it bites. In the corner I fold the thickness of my longing. and up high in this yellow room I paint it all. Here is where the red roofs grin up at me and the dogs ask what's become of me and my soul pleads with me- remain, remain...