The Moya View

Getting Married in the Shadow of Iztaccihuatl

Jonathan Moya reads Getting Married in the Shadow of Iztaccihuatl
She dreamed that shooting stars 
would stream the palaba roofs
on the night of her honeymoon,
that Iztaccihuatl would spark
embers approving of her love,
glistening her wedding dress in
ashes and a dozen golden sols.

The next day she would drape
the vestido on the line, it’s wetness
letting the entire Pueblo know that
there was spotting, consummation,
the start of marriage and true love.

At night, it was still drying, now almost
a fluttering black and white shadow,
now almost a Luna Moth soaring high
enough to seem almost a ghost in the
nocturnal light of Garabato.
By morning every curtain of her casa
was casted in the shape of her love.

She glanced in the mirror on her dressing stand
anticipating to see the reflection of her love
but only saw brown moths dancing, dancing
just outside the windows, roses dying in a red vase
and the whispered voices of her vecinos,
all her neighbors, chanting, rising, rising
La Locura, La Locura, the madness, the madness
until she fainted. Two days later she was buried,
her coffin draped with the harlequin cloth she
was wearing the day the Luna Moth visited her.


Garabato translates to scribble.

Iztaccihuatl("white woman" in Nahuatl, sometimes called the Mujer Dormida "sleeping woman" in Spanish) is an actual Mexican volcano.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by the late Gabriel Garcia Marquez is one of my favorite novels.  I love its magical realism and sad pathos bordering on myth.  To read it is to fully live in that realm between imagination and dreams.  I always wanted to write a poetic vignette that would fit perfectly within its over 400 plus pages.  This is my imagined four stanza contribution using the dark, beautiful and haunting photos of everyday adornments by Jessica Gonzalez for poetic inspiration.





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