Patrician as a Spanish grandee,
The Andean grandfather gazes
At llamas, alpacas and sheep
Weighing their fleece. His mouth
Is firm under a Roman nose.
Long eartlaps of a knitted
Chulpa frame angular
Cheekbones and a gray moustache.
He no longer plays soccer,
Inhaling the sparse oxygen:
His air fuel- injected
By high-octane hemoglobin.
His chest is now concave.
The serape slopes over shoulders That will carry the village sheep
At Sunday mass to the padre.
His wife has worked up a smile
For her grandson the artist, eyes Squinting in sunlight unshaded
By the upright salad bowl,
A scarlet melon slice,
Crowning her gray hair.
Rolled into a warm collar,
Her blanket comforts old bones.
She keeps her hands busy
Pulling and twisting wool
On a spindle. She often laughs
With neighbors at weekly markets
Buying potatoes and beans or
Sipping a glass of chicha.
She pacifies great grandbabies
with chunks of sugar cane.
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