There, through the hazy desert glare, I see
Luis walking over sand with a torn up t-shirt
Covering his head and cracked cheap sunlasses
Over his eyes. Ojos.
Luis is part of a line of 14 people wandering
Through the southwest sands, aiming at the
Heart of America. All of them wear dirty clothes
With Spanish words. Palabras.
The group has been walking in the sand
For four days now and they have little food
Left, though there are many days yet to
Travel with hunger. Hambre.
Luis walks next to his nephew, who grew up in the
Same little city where all his people lived.
Men from the Parti came through and when they
Left it was time. Tiempo.
Yes, time, because the nephew came to Luis,
Stood up with all his 16 years and said what
neither Luis nor his father would say, that
Time was gone. Ido.
“Walk away, walk away, walk away. We must
Walk away from our home,” the nephew chanted.
“Walk away, walk away, to the north we must go.
Leave this life behind. En el pasado.”
Over a dozen others joined the nephew and Luis,
Gathering together what they could not leave,
Cramming in food, water, a few towels, but
No one had a hat. Sombrero.
The sand is all that any of them can think of now
No one thinks about America or the bright
Picture on the tv that drew them into this trip
Across the desert. Desierto.
Luis played games with his nephew at first
Taking their minds off the drudgery and sore feet.
And each day he grew more quiet, less able or
Willing to smile. Sonrisa.
After a week, three of their fellows sat down.
They were at the side of a road some miles
From any town. One, tow, three, they
Simply sat down. Abajo.
The nephew stopped walking himself, to see
If they were all taking a rest but no others
Did and soon those three were lost behind a
Curve in the road. Camino.
“Walk away, walk away, walk away. We must
Walk away from our home,” the nephew chanted.
“Walk away, walk away, to the north we must go.
Leave this life behind. En el pasado.”
One day, with the sun high above them the troop
Came to a small lake. There were no other people
There and when a small woman ran in she
Never came out. Nunca reaparecido.
Weeks passed, days where not one word was said,
Though all of them just knew when it was time to
Rest or eat or sleep, and each night they slept
Knowing they were closer. Más cerca.
Luis ate all the food he had packed on a Tuesday;
Nephew finished his that Thursday. Friday, a
Package with more supplies was at their feet
In the morning. Manana.
Thought came slowly to him, his mind occupied
Watching a bird circle over a hill or a breeze
Pass through the wild grass off the road.
It was enough. Bastantes.
Finally they came to a patch of strange sand
Whiter than any sand in Mexico, softer and hotter,
But in this place the walkers lost all connection
To their homes. Hogares.
“Walk away, walk away, walk away. We must
Walk away from our home,” the nephew chanted.
“Walk away, walk away, to the north we must go.
Leave this life behind. En el pasado.”
There was no more food, no more water
No more mysterious food parcels and they could
Not find the way out from this white sand.
Where I watched. Miré.
Only four days passed from when they entered
Four days that stretched out from morning to night
When the Sun simply vanished from above, the
Stars came late. Tarde.
None of them was hungry, none of them was
Tired, none of them asked where they were
None of them laughed, none of them cried
None of them smiled. Sonrieron.
I was laying on a ridge not far above the sands
Watching but not being seen, listening
Though there was nothing to hear, waiting
But for what? ¿Qué?
In time I expect that something will happen
Someone, perhaps, will drive in to their
Circle with a truck, a laugh, and tell
Them to climb aboard. Subida encendido.
“Walk away, walk away, walk away. We must
Walk away from our home,” the nephew chanted.
“Walk away, walk away, to the north we must go.
Leave this life behind. En el pasado.”
BillSaysThis 