Guerrero

my little ranch

of the waterfall
green here,


green there,
great sheets of water
a descending radiance


we were living


down there

and the water ran close to us


vital as blood


it ran so full

in a heavy rain
fed by the canal


we would hear it coming

rushing and hissing


culminating in a wild ta-da-run






ta-da-run







ta-da-run








ta-da-run




God drumming over the rocks






in a strong and steady cadence
sometimes I hear an echo in my own body


blood rushing through the ears
more than just a memory, an imprint

I wish you could hear the echo yourself


of God drumming away in you and me




but here it is faint


water is life


we experienced the water

through mud and bowls of grass


fashioning shoes from green leaves


tying them with the soft parts of plants
all of this the gift of Him who drummed with the water

we did not have all we needed



all we had we took directly from His hand
And the bad things that happened are sifted out and left behind


drummed out over the rocks




to plague us no more.

In the rain lies the smell of the corn freshly planted

mingling with the perfume of the mountain flowers
the rain is gentle and beautiful in the fields


if you get drenched it does not matter
the joy of life is in the water
the corn, a gift from the nourishing water, is ground on the metate
every day we grind it fine

with our own rhythm, our own cadence
not so beautiful as Gods,

but unique and our own


no tortilla makers, no mills

just us and the metate
scooping the dough and shaping it




my tortillas are ugly
not like mothers

wafer thin, so thin, and delicate
her special, holy mystery


for this she is loved and sought after

My tortillas were ugly and crude
but I made them

and they were good
all natural, pure

the chile macho from the big molcajete
would drive the thought of sickness from you with its heat
we did not fall ill

we ran almost naked
and yet we did not fall ill


but here where it is all abundance
it has become all about doctors



and they steal our carefree happiness


which ran through us in imitation of the water
And the bad things that happened must be ground out and left behind

because if we fold them into our daily bread
we poison ourselves.