4 Poems by Lorraine Caputo



A dry season rain

patters across the tin eaves,

it drips down into

the patio after the

clouds relent. The wind ever-

lasting rustles palm

fronds, rattles the roof, hushing

hopes of this night’s dreams.




Waxing moon freshly

arisen, luminescent

above the jungle

silhouetted against the

star-strewn ebony heaven


Within this blackness

geckos cluckle & crickets

silver the evening.

Below, the Caribbean Sea

murmurs with its waning tide.






On the past-midnight plaza below

a group of youth play

guitar & sax, their voices

echoing down narrow streets




After 1 a.m., a red-hooded

young man shrilly whistles

across the plaza, sits next to a

trash can, rifling its contents


& at the approach

of a police pick-up, he hastily

weaves down a side street, shrilly

whistling, throwing a plastic bottle


at a five-star hotel’s stained glass

window, shrilly whistling, ponding

on a random door, shrilly whistling,

disappearing down a dark alley




After 2 a.m., from the open window below mine,

a young woman leans out, singing

along to music muffled

by thin headphones




Along a bank of

the rain-swelled Utcubamba,

a boy blue leads ten

white sheep, a sole ebon lamb


Mother in muddy

mourning follows, a heavy

bundle over one


& his sister, a

lamb wrapped in a red

mantle across her thin back.


A stone bridge they cross,

the waters of that river

flowing swift below,

tumbling against the low arch.


& up along the

other bank, disappearing

in the rains that now

again wetten this late day.

Sunrise Tree Desert Landscape  - erichv / Pixabay

Poet-translator Lorraine Caputo’s works appear in over 180 journals on six continents and 12 chapbooks of poetry, including On Galápagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019). She has done 200+ literary readings, from Alaska to the Patagonia. Caputo travels through Latin America, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth.

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