Just One Peso
Her eyes were strangely familiar
sitting there on the sidewalk
hand and arm extended
Her face worn with age
I have seen her before
Her gesturing as if she wanted to eat
The sadness in her eyes
The small children around her
some sitting and staring
others giggling and playing
they did not look hungry
they did not look sad
but why were they on the street
Was it their grandmother who brought them there
to make the appeal more meaningful
the children with their little purple
containers always asking
asking anyone who would listen
gesturing to anyone who passed by
one peso just one peso
At first I would shake my head
I would say no, I don't have a peso for you
But then the more I would look into their eyes
The more I saw my distant relatives
the more I thought about what
I really spend my pesos on
I decided I would carry as many pesos
as possible to give to them
I would look into their eyes and try to understand
I would share what was not mine anyway
one peso for a child, a grandmother
twenty pesos for a beer
eight-hundred pesos for a room
I began to know, to feel why they were on that street: to reach out; to remind us life is precious and for those who have nothing, life is all they have
And in the end, for all WE have
Just one peso is not to much to ask ea
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Midnight Mystery
Drums beating
Incantations to Huitzilopochtli
Sounds of dancers
I looked outside
I saw nothing around del angel
Just hearing the whistling, the yelling
Those around me were asleep
Should I wake them
Let them share the sounds
It continued into the night
Calling for Tlatloc, Quetzalcoatl
Incantations to Aztec Gods
As the night grew older
The music eventually changed
At first I couldn't tell what it was
The trumpets, the tuba, the guitars, los gritos
Music of the streets
Of the Mexican people
But what was this?
Music from the distant past
Music from today's streets
My first night in Mexico
A mysterious experience
I will always wonder
The Moon and My Bike
It was late, I was drunk. I was planning to leave hours ago, but I wanted to talk, I wanted to laugh, but time ran out, I had to leave on my trusty bike.
The first stop was quick, a tumble, a crash, into a thicket of weeds. There I rested, the wind was cold, the earth was warm, I pulled on the still barren stems to cover myself, they warmed me, I slept. The cold wind woke me, my desire to get home drove me on. I continued my journey, down that moon lit pathway next to the river. The moon was oh so beautiful, so bright, so life giving, I prayed to the moon. Huffing and puffing, moaning, almost yelling, I felt the rush, the freedom, the danger, I was alone in the night, me, my bike, the path and the moon.
Then the crash, what a crash, was it a rock, a body, an animal, whatever it was it sent me flying. My beautiful silver ring flew off of my hand, my body hit the concrete with a thud, a roll, a scrape. I reached for the ring which was glistening in the moonlight, so beautiful, so bright. I could have died, but I didn’t. So far from home, so distant, the moon my only guide. My journey continued.
More aware of the danger of crashing, but not afraid of the night, not afraid of the dangers that lurked behind every tree, I continued, the moon being my guide. Another crash, this time into a lovely, soft bed of reeds. It felt good to lay there among the protecting plants that cushioned my fall, they were so welcoming.
The desire to continue, I could not stay, even though I wanted to, to lay among the reeds, to look at the moon, to rest, I had to go. Yet so far from home, the hills became steeper, the pull harder, the desire wavering. Could I make it, was I really going to make it? Up the hill, where was I? Houses? I was supposed to be on the trail, I didn’t want to see houses, the danger was greater, the police, were they going to see me and stop me, and punish me? I found the direction, with the help of the moon, I continued on, down dark streets, hiding from the police. Finally, reaching the familiar path, closer, closer to home, closer to safety, I couldn’t ride any longer, I had to walk, but the night was so beautiful, the moon so bright, I could have died, but I didn’t.
ea, March, 1999
Pueblo/Pueblo Sister City Sculpture
in front of Memorial Hall, Pueblo, CO
ea
