For Rhina P. Espaillat on her ninetieth birthday
She’s a writing machine, a
bicultural queen, a
savant from sestina
to forms much more lean. A
machete’s not keen, a
macaw is dull green, a
Swiss Alp’s a ravine, a
cold brew lacks caffeine, a
soufflé’s junk cuisine—ah,
compared to the bite
and the color (so bright!)
and the eloquent height
and the buzz (through the night!)
and the tasty delight
of a poem by Rhina.