Here is where she enters
Black and white photograph penetrates the soul
like a sacrament,
easy intimacy with the eyes, as if my
angel woman, Seri goddess,
boom box swinging
in her right hand, in her left
she’s pulling something hidden
from the rock,
long black
bridal veil of hair
maybe listening to hip hop
or be bop,
hiking down from the mountain-
top in white billowing
dress
her face a hidden
determination to be one
with/
the opposite of
the desert.
She descends sin nombre
into the sun-
basted,
flat
Sonoran badlands
where she’ll lose her mysteries
to that rigid overheated ocean
where scant rains fall,
here is where she enters my dream.
5 comments:
John,
Very nice, especially like the interlacing rhymology in rock/hop/bop/top, holding things together, I like that feeling of unitary organism/complex, individuated and thus aglow for eternity. Or anyway for an approximate human while.
This poem has made me remember Santo Toribio Romo Gonzales, guardian of the frontera, guide and helper to the migratores.
They and we can use any help they and we can get.
Such as this poem.
Thanks.
Tom:
Muchos gracias. Any true grace we can capture through the border night smoke.
John
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