Latin American Poem by Whit Leyenberger

Latin American



Her fingertips felt like topographical maps of the Andes
pulling slowly through hair suspended in water.
My roots were in Peru and my soul was in my skin.
I needed to know how she breathed among the clouds.
Her upside down eyes as quiet as the scissors of Machu Picchu.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
Close
Error Success