thick, scratchy, cringy, jungle heat
my nose in a coffin , an MRI for my lips without a panic button
weak orange streetlamps hush
hammocks and jam
a daylight brawl in pickpocket streets
lentils, rice, beans and plantains
splash from the sky
gringos wear keens and raincoats and funny hats
fedoras command the respect of a peacock
QUILOTOA
Andean peaks like steep and thick intestines lead to somewhere
a glass caldera of water, 800 years silent
dust, toothless smiles, blood-burnt cheeks and trash
words i don´t know and whispers
soup and potatoes and rice and soup. no exit. a pig screams at noon somewhere in the village. the house next to where I bought laurel leaves hangs a pink and red bone fan out to dry--four hooves swing quietly in the unrelenting breeze.
orange fire light in our mess hall, Jose´s den makes us forget to shiver.
Zumbuaha market sells sheep that come with free slaughtering. Though others watched to stretch their spirits, mine is just fine imagining the ritual. Cheese and honey, steaming pots and a carpet auction are oblivious to the green and endless slopes that nestle in this village.
Our work on the community center has only just begun. We gather the children off the volleyball court, which is a basketball court. We teach them English with name and number and animal games.
Jesse´s brother married an Ecuadorian woman, from Mindo last year. She makes all our delicious soups, including a green one you put popcorn in. They are lost in love. Santi and Sonya look at each other and make us forget where they are from. 
Christen and I bunk up as the Blue cast is cast out of Princess a Toa. An orange kitten adopts us and convinces us to make a litter box out of gravel to keep under the stairs to the loft. We have hot water here, but it is so cold I only shower once.
In order to herd sheep you must first herd llamas.
Rainbows stretch here the size of Earth in a perfect half circle.
Sunsets are platinum and punctuated only with barking dogs, wind, and far off conversations in Quichua.
The president invites us to music at a house that would attract Grendel in the village now dark under the bright milky way. We dance and they sing and play objects and instruments. Each song is half an hour. We dance with the children who jump us up and down. We spin them. Girls wear white knee highs, black heels and shawls. Everyone wears a fedora. Jose slides his lips across the p¡pes with a pursed grin. ¨Hola Chica!¨ says his golden tooth. The president is in the circle, so are Blanca and Narcissa. I don´t want to go to dinner, which is getting cold.One last bowl of starch before we leave.
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