Lagrimas de Maria
Woman of the river, why do you cry?
I’ll take your pain,
if you take mine.
Did he conquer your heart?
Or conquer your land?
Wed you for love?
Or strike with his hand?
Bruises,
shades of yellows and greens,
as deep as the sunny breeze,
and fields of maize,
breathe.
Woman of the river,
tell me your tale.
Recount the first child,
and the next,
do you ever remember saying yes?
Braided your hair because he said so,
held on tighter because he thought you’d go,
pricked your finger on the rose,
it matches the dried specks below your nose.
He peeled the layers of your skin,
broke and bent them,
sewed and melted them,
rearranged and reordered,
framed and holstered,
you
became
pequeña.
Woman of the river,
take my eyes.
See again,
and try.
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