Can You Still Hear The Howler Monkeys?
For Terri Stavola
Dear Sweetie! College, congrats! I will be, by then, a bygone age, I’m sure. You,
be a star gleaming in a clear sky.
Today, sunrise was at five right off the bat, and the Amazon River
stretched its bountiful wings, ready to tour. The first Great Egret flew like a snake cat.
A piece of cassava bread rolled off my plate, wolfed by an unknown flying thing I tried to maneuver, making a cupful of coffee fly.
Botos laughed off their pink noises and drew party tracks on the tails of an end-of-summer rainy day, yet it was premature. Worms still bathe on the ledge of Lake Amori—squishy snacks.
With their mindful soundtracks, rainforest antbirds aim at fire ants hauling food to feed an army for an uncertain future, hoping the beetles, caterpillars, and even a slow dragonfly
glue to their BBQ skewers made of wax. Grandpa says to eat bugs to green up
new days! Nowadays, we are boiling hotter to the max!
Sloths still play in their habitats; sun rays spotlight the river’s tar sands. Miniature royal water lilies have grown into large floating pies served under a curtain of rambutans.
River waters scream like scary brats, echoing their fear of drying dead and immature.
Grandpa says the cod stock in the Baltic Sea is already flat!
Uncle Marlin is going back to painting as fishing might become a fad. Cupuaçu and açai trees share their fruit for free to cure the earth. The equality—of men and insects —is no lie!
Should we believe Grandpa? After the rain, two youngsters’ ribeirinhos told me they sang the rain song to promise their playground another day. Sunset orange cotton turns into blue velvet.
Here is a box gift: my collection of postcards, photographs, national park maps,
and hallmarks I witnessed with this one old and pure
heart. The howler monkeys still close the day with their temblor voices. Yours, Grandma.
[1] boto (a freshwater pink dolphin of the Amazon)
[2] The Ribeirinhos are a traditional rural population in the Amazon rainforest who live near rivers.