In a house of
desert stone
the sun first
shines – on a wash bowl
and pitcher
half-filled with water.
The
other half sinks into the skin
of a woman who
arose
with lamplight
and the need to write.
Having washed
off
the sweat of
old dreams
and some tears,
she listens
to the wind.
Outside the soft
hum of womanly
song
hangs over the
saguaro
like wool on a
spindle
waiting to be
spun
into her own
grief or joy.
A gospel of
living
she wants to
leave her daughters
before she
journeys thin
and transparent
into the field. Her ancestors there
singing at the
edge of a trail
once traveled
by wagons. Now by coyotes.
They breathe
in dust – almost tasting
the salt of
unseen hands
that reach out
for a tribeswoman. She
who will come
soon with ink
on her skirt.
The brewed scent
of red pepper
and cocoa
on her breath.
_____________________________________________________
Note -- the ancient Aztecs brewed chocolate as a drink with red hot pepper. It was
considered a spiritual drink with magical properties.
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