San Carlos

A poem I wrote a couple of days ago about the place where I went to school:

San Carlos

There are Dark Heads adorned in forrest green--

And here there is no silk, there is no jean.

And when the bell is rung, the door is shut,

And then the Dark Heads pull their notebooks out,

And they are set on wood that's painted grey,

And it, through time, has slowly worn away.

The man in front begins to say his piece

And so the pens record--few words are missed.

Three speakers come in turn, and then they go.

And after that begins the out door show.

The forrest gathers thick around the snacks.

They purchase what they want, and then come back.

Or others simply warm up in the sun--

The ones not wearing skirts will jump, or run.

Their toasted skin was not made for cement

That made the buildings where their days are spent.

And then the bell is heard. The crowds retreat.

Dark eyes--bright lamps--they watch the one who speaks.

And so, they do the cycle once again

With different words and thoughts to entertain.

And after three more bells are rung, it's time

To journey to the park, or home to dine.

The sun still sits above. The day is young.

And so the forrest gathers, then it's gone.

I wrote it for my Creative Writing class in the states, about my school here in Guatemala. I have plenty of homework for the U.S. classes, so Friday the 20th was my last day. They threw me a party. Someone from the administration, and the class president said some words about me before I spoke, to thank the class for their kindness. They bought me a shirt from the PE uniforms from our school, and all signed it, and presented me with a gift too. It was just a simple bag, but it was really sweet. All of the students talked about how they were sure I missed my family, but they all hoped that I'd miss them when I left too. Such good, kind, loving people. I love it here.

There it is.

Josie