Reflections on Rivera's Vendedora de Flores
Posted Mar 18 2006
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It is dark.
In the silence of cool morning,
a woman struggles on her knees to stand.
The basket of flowers secured to her back
weighs her down.
The warm smell of fresh tortillas infuses her body;
she longs to go back inside.
Instead, head bowed, she concentrates on rising to her feet
as husband prepares to lift the great load for an instant--
so that wife may stand.
The moment just before arising from prayer.
II.
His feet are brown and dusty.
Flatfooted, he stands behind her;
body obscured by the oversize basket filled
with white calla lilies.
The largest nest
crowded with
the whitest birds.
Throats open;
not quite singing, not quite crying.
III.
Her hair is thick and shadowy.
Parted and pinned, it is tight;
practical.
A worn beige rebozo wilts softly
over her shoulders.
Later,
it may provide some protection
from the constant rubbing of
straw on a weary
back and arms.
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