Something about you
whispers to my gypsy heart.
Hard scrabble sagebrush-
roots reaching down
in search of water
that is not coming from the sky.
Dust storms swirl above mesas -
flat with erosion
and ancient stories.
Abandoned cars under bridges -
stories of lives they’ve taken…lost to history.
I can feel the hoof beats of the vaquero’s horse
galloping across the dry plains,
my ancestor.
Did he look to the west
and see thunderheads?
Hoping as I do?
Did wagon wheels get stuck in the red clay?
Did hearts reach for the big sky of New Mexico
as mine does?
Voices echo off the canyon walls,
calling home my nomad’s heart…
begging me to stay and return
to the caliche dust
with my forefathers.
Only a true native daughter could have written something this full, descriptive and vivid of this land and its people. Bless you Mi Hita.
Love you, Dad!!