Mambo

　　by Jaime Manrique

　　 Against a topaz sky

　　 and huge windows starry

　　 with delirious heartsease

　　 and sensual red cayenne；

　　 the sweet twilight breeze

　　 fragrant with almond and Indian orange；

　　 on the Moorish tiles，

　　 wearing their spike-heeled shoes，

　　 lowcut dresses and wide swirling skirts；

　　 their long obsidian hairdos

　　 in the style of the time；

　　 perfumed， olive-skinned， smiling，

　　 my aunts danced the mambo

　　 and sang： "Doctor， tomorrow，

　　 you can't pull my tooth

　　 even if I die of the pain."

　　 those evenings of my childhood

　　 when my aunts were young and belonged to me，

　　 and I danced hiding in their skirts，

　　 our lives were a happy mambo--

　　 I remember.