Joan Roberta Ryan
  • Home
  • About
  • Books
  • Poems
  • Events
  • Contact

Picture

Magdalena, on Truth Windows
​
I saw one first on Baca Lane
in a house built for a college friend 
who moved here from the east--
a shuttered niche in an entrada 
wall, framed in aged mesquite
—a way, the builder said, 
for her new home to prove 
its true adobe bones--
as though a house has anything 
to prove except how well 
it fits one’s life—keeps out rains 
but not their sound, nests this sleigh 
bed on that old Albadeh rug, 
accommodates new pets or extra 
guests, and provides a quiet 
spot or two for private talks.
And that cedar shutter
in my hallway? It enclosed my Nana’s
secrets once—an iron key, and 
(all in faded Spanish script)
an address on a Street of Baths 
and book of recipes with names
like Cousin Lia’s Flat Cakes or 
Sara’s Albondiga Soup.

Now it hides an ill-placed fuse box. 
As life and Nana taught me well, 
some truths are best kept hidden.
Proudly powered by Weebly
  • Home
  • About
  • Books
  • Poems
  • Events
  • Contact