Eyes the Color of Coffee


Xochil pours coffee into my cup
The el rumbles south above our heads
like thunder from the mountains,
the roar of a waterfall
into a pool where jaguars come to drink.

Cold summer sleet spatters
against the bakery windows
grey mist rises as women scatter
across Wabash and Monroe like black birds
to their skyscraper days.

The train roars above us
Xochil pours coffee
eyes veiled until I ask her name
“Zho-schil” she whispers,
looking up with a smile.

In eyes the color of coffee I see
the lush green mountains,
cold clear pools
the amber-eyed jaguars bending to drink.
Steam rising from ancient volcanoes swirls about us
a siren calls through the air.


Writer:  Laurie McGregor Carroll 
Photograph:  Ibrahim Iujaz

Location:  Monroe Street & Wabash

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