I wrote this poem about the farm. God I miss her so much.
I Heard You Bought a House, Justin Bieber
by Maya Lazarus
I heard you bought a house,
Justin Bieber, near Cartagena.
Well, I have one there, too.
And a farm. Maybe near you.
You’ll find me there among the plantains and coconuts,
Pricking my finger on pineapple plants,
Inhaling the odiferous scent of guayaba
with its pink, succulent flesh.
Fanning myself under the palm-leafed roof
of our open-air gazebo while swinging in my hammock.
At 1 p.m. or a little earlier,
a whisper of a breeze comes forth,
disturbing wisps of hair and drying beads of sweat.
I’ll read and write all afternoon,
picking my head up at 5:30 or so
to ponder the flight of the white egrets,
as they swoop and swoon rapidly
over the farm,
trying to beat the giant orange globe
before it sinks into the earth
at 6:30 every day.
Time never wavers near the equator.
Where our farm has a rhythm of its own,
and time is not relevant.