The Angel of Paraguay 

(for Judith and Jerry)

Shanty towns sprawl for miles
along the river's sluggish flow. The city shimmers
through a haze of charcoal smoke.
At night, lights draw the curious and the dead. Tourists
confuse desperation with desire, convince themselves
that dollars for innocence is fair trade.

A woman steps off the plane,
breathes in air heavy
with the scent of poverty. Street vendors sing out
for her attention. Eleven years before
she fashioned river clay in the shape of a boy
with eyes the color of jet.
Today, she sees his face everywhere.

She goes home with a young girl
and her baby, eats chipa and bananas,
sips thick mate. Tomorrow, she says,
I will go with you to the health center.
The girl smiles, shakes her head, no, not safe for you.

Pain stares her down; she does not flinch.
A band of children circles around
but she is empty now. Nada mas,
no hoy. They laugh and scatter.
Hasta Manana.