La Señora de las Tortas

La Señora de las Tortas
Mazatlán, 1996

A woman wearing a flowing black dress
walks in small but firm steps
on the sidewalk of Avenida del Mar,
across the street from the gleaming
beach sand of the bahía,
its incoming waves cresting
and placidly advancing
to a steeply inclined shore.

She carries proudly before her,
above the waist, a plate of cake,
one slice more than half, gone.
It’s not an ordinary cake —
triple-layered angel food
with two bands of preserves,
and impeccably iced.
At first, I imagine she’s come from the Catedral.

Señora is older than I …,
her dark hair already faded through gray to white now.
Mid-morning cake is not what I’m after,
and my few words of Español are inadequate for dialog.
Perhaps when my wife awakens in the hotel,
we’ll walk along to the beachside café
that serves freshly squeezed orange juice,
and we could share a plateful of those camarónes.

**

In the zócalo two days later, I notice
it’s la Señora de las Tortas among others
on a shaded walkway crossing the square.
Today’s cake on a pedestal plate is dark,
with light brown icing — is it chocolate?
Zócalo Plaza is alive with folks.
The deafening political rally is over,
and while audio technicians remove equipment

Old friends refresh their acquaintance
in conversation and laughter,
in games of chequers, jumprope, and
informal, soccer ball footwork’d passes.
Opportunities offered, accepted for the moment,
an elderly Señora wends her way,
perhaps a naval officer’s widow;
her cake-baking scheme brought-in 24 pesos this day.

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