Ode to Provi
Providencia David, a pompous name fit for a queen – her regal majesty of the South Bronx. Provi to her friends and family.
Her realm was a fourth floor walkup that hid her many treasures – overflowing jungles of houseplants, emerald parakeets, golden canaries, hot house flowers, knick knacks and doilies of every kind that somehow filled the space left by the child she lost in the womb.
Saving every paper, postcard, greeting card, newspaper, and memento to adorn her hallway to her abode – looking to fill the void.
Her hands fluttered about while she spoke and the dime store jewelry twinkled and swayed to her tropical beat that reminded me of the Coney Island ferris wheel at night – constant motion going nowhere fast.
The heavy scent of jasmine, Maja perfume and sofrito permeated the air around her.
She had known better times and refused to see the decay and stench around her. She escaped to the glory days of Rita Hayworth, Valentino and Cantiflas at the local movie theatre. Striding down Third Avenue looking for bargains and more knick knacks to fill her castle.
Providencia stands proudly at the platform of the 3rd Avenue El, navigating the grit and grime like a luxury liner through a storm.
Her profound loving heart, brilliant sunlit smile gave solace to those who flocked to her door. For a moment you forgot the drab dull city in the glory of her realm.