Tuesday, May 4, 2010

Trapped in Machu Picchu

Traveling in South America we toured Macchu Pichu and then, as we slept, a storm struck. My memory of that:

The rain seemed light to us down
in the village of Agua Calliente
but high above, thousands of feet above
it was enough to move the earth
And with the earth was a boulder
Or two to dam the stream
that once poured so freely down
the ridge to the river below

How could we know, so comfortable in bed
of the horror that stream caused
as it broke and tumbled with the rocks and
boulders through homes with people once alive

Did they hear it before their houses crumbled?
Did they lie beneath the ruins?
or did they sweep along with the river
as it reached toward the sea?

Everything seemed normal that next
sunny day, shops were open,
vendors hawked their wares while
tourists viewed and ate their meals

Behind the fence is all that remains

I remember

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