Contributor Series 2: Candy and Spirits, La Llorona, The Weeping Woman
Contributor Series 2: Candy and Spirits
La Llorona, The Weeping Woman
By Ray Sharp
Mis hiiiiiiiiiijos, mis pobreciiiiiiiiiiiitos!
My chiiiiiiiiiiiildren, my poooooor babies!
The anguished cry from the arroyo
pierces the moonless night, a wailing
that emanates from beyond the beyond,
foul ghost-breath on the scruff of my neck,
stink of mud and rot and something worse,
shiver of cold lightening down my spine,
icy hand grabbing me by the huevos and
squeezing them like two quail eggs,
a sickening sensation of bony fingers and
the sudden sound of dry brown shells
cracking. Why do you pull me down
to the edge of the black and swirling
waters, oh La Llorona, Weeping Woman,
Indian Princess, Traitor of La Raza,
Doña Marina, La Malinche, Wicked
Bitch, Whore of Cortez, Medea-Witch?
You opened our land and your legs
to the false Quetzalcoatl, the white-
faced bearded killer who burned the ships
at Vera Cruz, and to the ghost soldiers
on their snorting demon-horses who
raped Tenochtitlan and cut out
the beating heart of México. And so
fast under these very waters, and dove
with them, your beloved babies,
swimming to the depths of Hell.
But you could not kill the meztizos,
a million bastard children born of
Padre España and Madre México.
To this day, you cry from the river
for the flesh of your loin,
for the blood of your heart,
for the pain you endure,
the never-ending curse of filicide,
and the suffering of those who walk
this dry and dusty God-forsaken land.
Down you pull me, under the oily surface
into your muddy lair, your arms like ropes
that bind me tight, your ghost breasts
two empty paper sacks, your sex
a dark and toothless grin that sucks me
with its supernatural attraction
and swallows my soul. Perhaps,
in the end, you had to kill for the shame
your kind have worn since Eve
fell from Grace, the world in a state
of perpetual postpartum depression.
Twice our sins wash down this river,
one time baptism and the other drowning.
I see now that it is only just and good
that I surrender to your sweet embrace
and kiss your dead white lips,
breathe your darkness into my lungs
and join you forever in your watery grave,
wet womb from where we were birthed.
Ay, Dios Mío!
Ray Sharp's poetry (Synesthesia; Contributor Series 1: 9/11, Threnody for the Survivors of September 11, 2009; Under an August Moon; ( ); Clavicle; Sternwheeler) has appeared at vox poetica in 2009.
Posted by Annmarie at 11/2/2009 10:45 PM 
Categories: today's words, Contributor Series 2
Tags: Cortez Mexico Ray Sharp witch legend drowning La Llorona
Categories: today's words, Contributor Series 2
Tags: Cortez Mexico Ray Sharp witch legend drowning La Llorona
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