Amarilla

Amarilla

Amarilla or yellow

is the colour of the bumpy pittaya

that could have come from Ecuador,

but is being sold by

a Venezuelan street kid

singing “a papaya dada, papaya partida

near Santa Fe,

in Bogota.

Amarilla,

the sweet but hard-shelled granadillas,

and curubas

maracuyas,

heaped in an aztec breakfast bowl

on a rosewood table

in a Santa Marta hotel.

And what about the little finger bananas,

off green platanas

from Guajira,

and the uchuvas

that could be mistaken for Peruvian golden berries,

ground cherries,

that are yellow too.

There is also a tint of yellow

in the flaming skin

of bittersweet Spanish plums

or ciruelas,

and orange lulos

that resemble Japanese persimmons-

God’s pears-

fed by the September glare.

Fat mangoes too,

red, orange or green outside

but yellow

when exposed,

after being cubed, sliced and

spiralled,

by street hawkers in Cartagena,

who speak Creole.

In Paloquemao,

petals have fallen

from flowers,

heliconias and agave,

crushing yellow

against grey pavement.

And

birds of paradise,

float high above the aisles,

buttressed by rough, brown, farm hands

their sweet nectars linger-

momentarily-

until swallowed

by sweating meat, salted shrimp

and deep-fried dough.

In the corners of this place,

tall sheets of glass protect arepas de chocolo;

descendants of white corn flour,

whisked and beaten,

yellow pulp,

moulded,

into spherical afternoon delights

that are too large to pocket.

But there is no treat

as sweet

as envueltos or corn cakes,

that have been crumpled, steamed and rumpled

into the durable husks

of kernels from Antiqua.

And on the very edge

of this world,

a group of elderly men

sit on plastic chairs,

share,

tissue-wrapped empanadas

of goldenish-yellow,

and bunuelos

of yellowish-brown.

Suddenly,

a mulatta girl emerges

darting through narrow aisles,

dodging arms, bargains, and fruit files,

unaffected

by the carcasses

of cowhide,

spilt water, melted ice.

Her muddy feet fly,

abiding movement

like they have always pelted, felt,

dwelt

above pavement

She is dressed

in a football jersey,

the colour of the Colombian flag.

When You Hold

When You Hold

Silly and Little

Silly and Little