Noon.
Even in our room
with a swamp cooler going, it’s stifling.
From our second story window,
I look down at the space between our hotel
and the building across the way,
with its solid shade.

The three are sitting on the ground,
leaning against the wall opposite,
feet straight out in front of them.
The man in puffy pants and shirt.
On his lap, an embroidered bag.

To his right, a small boy
dressed like the man,
topped off with a cloth cap.

To the man’s left, a large brown bear
wearing a wide leather collar.

The man opens his bag
and pulls out a canteen.
He drinks. The boy drinks.
The bear drinks.
Then the man unknots a white bandana
and gives a portion of food to the boy,
a portion to the bear,
and eats some himself.
Last, two guavas each,
which they chew and swallow,
skin and seeds.

They all lean their heads back.
Eyes closed, they seem to be dozing.

Later, groggy after my own nap,
I return to the window
and the space outside is empty.
The man, the boy, and the bear
have disappeared,
the after-image
evanescent as a dream.

 

Ms. Del Bourgo’s writing has appeared in journals such as Nimrod, The Jewish Women’s Literary Annual, The Green Hills Literary Lantern, Caveat Lector, Puerto Del Sol, Rattle, Oberon, Spillway, Mudfish. Her awards include the Lullwater Prize for Poetry; the Helen Pappas Prize in Poetry, and the New River Poets Award.