Green Halls

Green. Fresh like new leaves or cut grass
absent of the vile jealousy and greed
that color money in my pocket. Green
like mint ice cream and watermelons
plump from the summer sun. Green
welcomes me as we enter past the mirror door
faceted of my reflection, barred in brass
flanked by tiles below and an alter above:
the Virgin smiles down upon us, wreathed
in red flowers and dark verdant boughs
besides piles of trash waiting to be taken outside.
The green walls lead us onward, ducking
beneath a low rafter, curling around
to a steep staircase broken in two. I took a picture
my second day there, as he walked down the stairs
smiling, framed by the green haze in the stairwell
neon darkening his skin like clouds before the sun.
He leads me to the right, a narrow hall
breached at last by sunlight: rich white rays
burgundy tiles on the walls, a curtain
forming a door on our left as we walk deeper
into this emerald labyrinth. Here we step sideways
from one hall to the next: dusty glass windows
divide us from where we were and where we are
before we turn to the left, another staircase
railed on our right by wrought iron
bathed entirely in sunlight, daylight, gold
and green tiles illuminating the hallway beyond
before we turn at the sign marked
“in case of earthquakes and fires”
past a mirror floating over white and blue tiles
to an alleyway open above, tan cement walls
to our right, and giant green cisterns
on our left: so narrow, we’re forced to walk
sideways to a thin green door, shaped in metal
longing to be rusted, but unscathed as it swings open.
And here, a closet full of space, white and sunlit
hazy beams fluttering through the windows
we fall onto each other, into each other
bursting with the green radiance
of springtime and life.

The guest house I stayed at in Mexico City, Mexico, April 2014.

The guest house where I stayed in Mexico City, Mexico, April 1014.


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