I see Senora Sanchez <br />along the river. <br />Black catfish <br />pop the silver <br />water surface, <br />waves unroll <br />as the gnarled <br />bronze face and <br />black eyes <br />remember <br />cool sea shells <br />and warm turquoise, <br />the turkey gobbling <br />behind bushes, <br />and the red skirt <br />hanging on boughs <br />as she bathed…. <br />She pulls her black sweater <br />snug around her, folded arms <br />across her stomach. <br />She who remembers <br />cannot say amen <br />but smiles to sunrise <br />as she walks through the grass, <br /> the tall, <br /> green grass, <br />grass that does not listen to <br /> the priest <br />in black robes, blooms green <br />as she walks through the grass <br />and talks with them.<br /><br />Jimmy Santiago Baca<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/old-woman/
