Evening bells in Cuetzalan
Busy hands, stilled by sunset, the heat of the day fading. Ring the bells, sing out to the children. Gather them home. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
Organillero de Coyoacan
Armed with a hand crank and union card, he tatters under the midday sun. Sounds in sepia murmuring amidst the ring tones. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Noon Mass in the Cathedral
A hundred glossy-faced believers in the cool embrace of stone. Their prayers rise to the noon day sun trailing lunch bags. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Political rally in Tlaxcala
The absurdity of it now: fireworks and too much margarina, yellow shirts, urgent faces, a girl willing herself empty. That mannequin and how it strolled. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Lightning in Coatepec
Rain in our last hours, that brooding sky. CLICK ON THE RECORDING TO LISTEN
Schoolyard in Cuetzalan
Could you live here? he asked, meaning the trumpets and the bone-rattling streets, the crisp white shirts and someone forever sweeping a sidewalk to dust. Could you? he asked, meaning our son, unborn, and our daughter’s lily white hand. Darling, a part of us always will. CLICK ON RECORDING TO LISTEN
Mamacitas
Voices spill from the valley, cool and round, too early for dogs. Women call themselves to work as the clouds part and the earth twitches: how darkness anticipates dawn. Dress the church in heliconias. Fly the flag of the mother of mothers. Walk on the bones of the boisterous dead. These streets are a…
Noon bells in El Centro
The cathedral is sinking. The state, agitated, has responded with scaffolds and prosthetics. Everyone has noted this except the cleaning woman who each night slips in to touch the Lady of the Immaculate Conception and wipe away her dust like tears. (Originally published as “Teotihuacan,” in Goodbye: Poems for Leaving, Cubicle Press, 2007)…
Printing Press
We are all devils here, where iron rings with the heft of words. CLICK ON THE RECORDING