This blog is closed. For more recent content, visit Chris Clarke's new site Coyote Crossing.
Creek Running North
April 26, 2004
Viene la mujer
La Llorona weeps in the night, the darkness wrapped around her like a shawl.
"¡Ai, hijos mios!"
I hear her through the open window, grief braided in the wind. Her hair is long and black. I cannot tell where she ends and the night begins. Angry eyes glint fire, outshine the impassive moon.
I cannot comfort her. Her desolation is seamless, heir to a thousand generations of loss. She is as remote as onyx. Her eyes close slowly, open again, look away. I leave the window. I go back to bed.
Posted by Chris Clarke at April 26, 2004 09:59 PM
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Beautiful, Chris. It's good to hear your "voice". How are you? Still have an old kayak that yearns for the waters of Tomales Bay?Posted by: Lisa Thompson at May 6, 2004 07:05 AM