The Trip

 

    

In Native legends, the large beast glitters in the sky

looking for a place to lie down or someone to protect.

                                                               Wikipedia

                                                                         

On the cargo train  rattling north

through the coastal  mountains,  a young mother

sits fatigued as hair clings to her  skin

like black seaweed. Her face aimed toward

then receding from the landscape's view. The trees

and those dark slits inbetween -- hint at wild tinder,

 

sudden fires. Heat she has known in her village

as grenades, land mines, a kitchen blaze burgeoning

from a broken  lamp. The chairs and table charred, a lost

altar for sharing bread or catching one's breath.

But in that part of the country, she  could barely catch hers, 

it was always out of reach. The pale moth  (her toddler  tried to grab)

hovering with its nervous wings  around a thorn bush.

 

Now her son huddles close holding a tan bear. Last night

the bear was stitched with stars and filled with a brighter portion

of the universe. She had hope. Today, its' stuffed with straw

and  soiled from their long journey here. Reynosa

is still miles ahead ---

                            and the trees a waiting line of  millions.