Friday, 29 October 2021


by Lorraine Caputo

After nightfall, I hear a one-man band, the toilet-tank float flapping
against a drum, the pan flute. I used to see that
man walking, playing on other streets, in another barrio – but never
in this part of town. What is his memory doing here?
Will I ever hear your shuffle along the daytime streets again?

            I wonder, once this pandemic wanes, who will still be here?
            Will that one-man band? How many of the women selling in
            the Saturday morning market streets? Who of us will be left?

All Hallow’s Eve dusk, a strange ├Žnemic dried-blood light permeates the
sky, its deep glitter drifting into the corners of this cityscape,
into the deepest, finest folds of this valley … a strange light …
thousands of spirits of this pandemic & those of other centuries,
of conquests & wars – returning in search of their kin …

* * * * *

Lorraine Caputo is a wandering troubadour whose poetry appear in over 300 journals on six continents, and 19 collections – including On Gal├ípagos Shores (dancing girl press, 2019) and Escape to the Sea (Origami Poems Project, 2021). She also authors travel narratives, articles and guidebooks. In 2011, the Parliamentary Poet Laureate of Canada honored her verse. Caputo has done literary readings from Alaska to the Patagonia. She journeys through Latin America with her faithful knapsack Rocinante, listening to the voices of the pueblos and Earth. Follow her adventures at or

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