August 2013

Don Lucío, Sitting on His Volcanic Back

He greets me, still
sitting down on
a porous rock,
old, weathered, made
from the cerros above.
Greets the same way
he greets every stranger—
nods his head,
holds the edge
of a sombrero
campesino. He
looks up at me,
doesn’t recognize yet.
His hand, todo cafecito,
extends, traced in blue veins,
scarred knuckles,
a drunken accident
some Bracero night long ago
—shakes my hand
¿Que dice, viejo?
Standard Saludo.
I am in his way,
watching the pueblo die
before his one good eye
gave up. Waiting on an old friend,
so he can talk about things-
the young men wanting to leave,
chasing money and women,
grandchildren he can’t remember
the names, for the sun
to come out sooner.
The sun is on his face
coloring it in mahogany wrinkles.
He takes off the sombrero,
remembers me
remembers the son.
El sol, tan sabro el sol.

—Lupe Méndez

3 thoughts on “August 2013

  1. Pingback: La Noria Literary Journal | Table of Contents 1:2

  2. Pingback: La Noria Literary Journal | Poetry Selections 1:2

  3. Pingback: La Noria Literary Journal | Prose Selections 1:2

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *