Daphne as a Drum

Hola Everybody,
Here I was getting ready to post a blog on my fave film genre, Film Noir, and I got caught up in Rippa’s blog on whether prayer works! Dang! lol

I gotta go hit the streets. Today, I’m posting a poem that caught my eye last night while at a bookstore. It’s from an anthology titled, “The Wind Shifts: New Latino Poetry,” edited by Francisco Aragon. I know Nina will appreciate this one…

* * *

Daphne as a Drum
pa’ Juan

In a clearing, the percussionist pauses
noticing the dark hips
in a tree’s shape.

He puts his arms around
the curve of its waist and holds on,
ear pressed to the trunk.

He strokes the bark
with calloused hands.
Daphne aches inside

her home. She wants to bend
and let down her hair when his palms
brush her stiff back and behind.

He whispers, you are red
inside, full of music.
So, he fells the tree,

rhythms thudding, echoing
from the fallen trunk.
Slowly, delicately he scoops out

everything, the sap
sticking to his fingers
And when it is over

her figure remains in the wooden
contours, waist and hips
responding below the taut skin

he taps between his legs.

-- Lidia Torres