La Llorona
I know an evening song
of terrifying tears
flooding the arroyos
and the driest
reddest canyons
lugubrious La Llorona
wailing her song in the darkest
mourning hours
wearing a translucent white gown
in the places that were once rivers
some say
she cries for the lost land and was first heard in the years before the Spanish came,
some say
she cried for her own children murdered by her own hand
some say
she appears as a beautiful woman and others say
a rolling ball of fire,
that stills
others claim
to see
an apparitional mist that cries
for the poisoning of the water
for the drying of the rivers
and for the carelessness of the people
I say she sees the land as a material scene of forces, and scorched hills, and emptied cities
reflecting complex civilizations
and I say that this evening song seems to know the most midnight of places
Water Witness
La Llorona watches the water bloom with algae
watches the rivers turn yellow and orange,
pool with crude oil, catch on fire
