Guanajuato, Mexico

Guanajuato--
Your vivid colors are off a fresco from
Your pre-Columbian past, no somber
Stone or all white edificios from your
Mother land, you come bursting forth
Like the brilliant bougainvillea in
Gorgeous hues that abounds, imploding
From your narrow river bed up the
Mountainsides, your streets are
Labyrinths inviting one to get lost
As callejones serpentine their
Way as only they know how, you may
Be bewildered, bemused or even
Mystified but around the corner is a
New scene and then around another
You find familiarity, I like to view you
From my roof terrace or from the
Universidad, take the funicular to
Pipila’s domain, the mountains are
Always present, brown, bare, with
Strange rock formations on the top,
These gave you your name, the
Tarascan Indians thought they
Resembled frogs, one of their deities,
Who was the god of wisdom so
Named this place the hill of frogs,
This town is for walking if ever there
Was one, but there’s another world
Subterraneo, with myriads of tunnels
Blasted out of the stone, another maze
To explore, you bring to mind many
Other exotic locales, the warrens of
Morocco’s imperial cities, St. Paul-de-
Vence, where the streets became flights
Of steps, Barcelona whose alleyways
Would suddenly bring one to tree-
Shaded plazas, Naples, but your colors
Are singular and unique, no somber
Gothic temples here but a riot of
Churrigueresque carvings, radiant
Baroque interiors, maybe its from your
Wine-soaked mortar that the city has*
Aged so intoxicatingly, perched upon*
No great oceans, rivers or lakes, no
Famous caravan routes, from the mines
Of gold and silver you became one
Of the wealthiest places on earth, the
Second largest city on the North
American Continent, your perpetual
Sunshine makes you stunningly devoid*
Of melancholy, you are a timeless*
Mandala as elusive as the way home*
Which I may never want to find

*The Hills Of Guanajuato by Jenny Lenore Rosenblaum

March, 1, 2007