Chicano Poet

Wednesday, May 10, 2006

The Face On Aztlan

Your brown face boring holes in my mind
after all these Mexican years,
jaguars leaping,

quetzals springing from the dirt,
jungles eating up the sky,
a poem cut in half by obsidian.

The bloody pyramids
glistening in the Aztec sun
like a two-way mirror,

you see the truth
from either side of your face.
My soul a nickel and a penny,

sad resident of Aztlan,
the smoking lake you can not rake,
the bean brown lawn,

our sacrificial hearts
beating outside the body
to the rhythm of the dancing tribe.


At 9:57 PM, Blogger FossilGuy said...

A lovely poem. It touched my sadness button. Thanks!

At 11:59 AM, Blogger RC said...



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