Mexico Needs A Gardenia

Like any big city, sitting at he

Argentinian cafe, watching the

waves of people, their tales

worn in the clothes on their bodies,

each person their own ambient 

semaphore.

I can read them better now that I’m

over myself. Businessmen in nice

suits. I look at their serious faces

and all I think to say to them in my

mind is  “Whatever it is, 

it ain’t gonna work.”

People talking to themselves….“You

can’t get here from there.”

A huge woman in some kind of uniform.

She was smiling as she passed me, and

we smiled at each other…handsome men

and women, well dressed and obviously

going somewhere fun….the costumes with

the pins and steel ornaments…either black

and white, or rainbow-ed. 

Most hypnotized by purpose of one thing

or another. I saw them see me in passing,

in the split second….few reactions….too

little time, that they didn’t have time to take.

There are plenty of flowers in Mexico….the

Nahuatl’s name for Tepoztlan translated as

“Valley of the flowers.” 

But several people I did talk to…a man that

wanted to show me around in his taxi…some

beautiful old women in a huge shop, desperately

trying to sell me something… told me that the

Americans are more afraid of Mexico, and it hurts

them, economically of course..but it also hurts 

their hearts. These people need a gardenia, that

strong perfume of natural love, to remind them

of themselves….which they haven’t really lost.

Written in Hotel Geneve, Mexico City August 6, 2014

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