Pat Mora
- I say feed me.
She serves red prickly pear on a spiked cactus.I say tease me.
She sprinkles raindrops in my face.I say frighten me.
She shouts thunder, flashes lightning.I say comfort me.
She invites me to lay on her firm body.I say heal me.
She gives me manzanilla, orégano, dormilón.I say caress me.
She strokes my skin with her warm breath.I say make me beautiful.
She offers turquoise for my fingers, a pink blossom for my hair.
I say sing to me.
She chants lonely women's songs.I say teach me.
She endures: glaring heat
numbing cold
frightening dryness.
She: the desert
She: strong mother.
From Chants by Pat Mora, Arte Publico Press
© 1985 Pat Mora
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