I heard the bells ring out their clanging hollow history of the minute.

Then slowly with feminine grace reached out to embrace the morning;

Stretched my arms and ran my hands across the smoothness

of the crisp white Egyptian cotton sheets.

They were clean and soft with a lovely fresh, almost floral…

I paused to drink in the fragrance…

Or maybe it was the bougainvillea mingling with café con leche

Like lovers whose scent is swirled together, making his and hers into theirs.

Whatever this enticing aroma, it slipped through the mosquito netting,

Kissed my senses and caressed my lips into a smile

As it swayed through this Mexican mountain village

Like a seductive dance on the wind

In a prayer that is everywhere, but especially here.

My hands felt weak, clumsy from sleep I tried to grasp my voluptuous pillow,

Turned down the ample corner to see past my billowy bedding,

“There must be a clock somewhere…”

Latent listening as the chorus chimed from the second and third cathedrals

Hilltop echoes dream-waking with this delicate delight

Ringing at intermittent intervals; giving me a choice of time.

Like a patient parent that counts to three for

Their children to respond with obedience.

I had my option of 7:00, :01, :02 to believe

That morning was here

And I was there,

And we were both on San Miguel time.

© Una-Melina // Worthy Books & Things, 2002.