Happiness in Oaxaca

Short essay/blurb:  Happiness in Oaxaca  by Laura Hovey Ozuna


Buenos días, buenas tardes, buenas noches.
¡Buen provecho!
The constant greetings of almost every passer-by also flow like speech
bubbles from my mouth, turning stranger into friend.
The crispy melting quesillo between the bolillo, chile, avocado, and beans
on our tortas each day.
Dr. Spores’ voice in Yucundaa says we are walking on documents, living
documents, shards of pottery painted red like cochinilla dye weaving the
symbols of God, mountain, seeds, butterfly, lluvia de estrellas in the
tapetes in Teotitlán.
And the smell of mint, hierba santa, eucalipto carried in the wind in
Coixtlahuaca, on the street as we run to San Felipe del Agua, or striking
our cleansed spirits, scattered all around our bodies, stomped under our
feet, taking out the sadness, sickness, hurt. Breezes that brush our hair
against our faces in Monte Albán.
Rain falling on us in Mitla while we gaze upon mosaics and carvings
invoking the same clouds that shower above us now.
Can you hear all the music floating in the air at night, smell the fresh
roasted corn, feel the froth on your lips with cinnamon in your chocolate
de leche?  Sweet agua de coco, and Virgen del Carmen Alto with her gilded
veil outstretched, surrounded by lilies and mariachis.
How can I love two nations so much?  I think now you may understand.

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