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Creek Running North

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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.

"¡Mijo! ¡Mijas!

"¿Donde estan?"

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 TrackBack URL for this entry:
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decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs

Comments

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
decorative line of bighorn petroglyphs