Chicano Poet

Tuesday, June 24, 2008

The Stone

How does a Tyutchevian stone
fall from the mountains above Palm Springs,

and finally roll all the way to Indio
where my father is working on his truck

so he can drive to Texas
with his then wife and son

(both of who are dead now,
her from disease, he from an accident,

a motorcycle accident at sixteen).
I don’t know how it rolled so far,

but my father and his friends
push the stone into the vineyards

where the purple grapes are being picked
by Mexicans who crossed the border

just days ago, they have no business
with Tyutchevian or his kind.

Why were we put in the middle?
The stone being such a singular object.


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