You made tomatoes laugh
& warned me
some words die in cages.
I met you first in the desert.
You burned sage, greeted,
each of the four directions
with plumed syllables.
The ritual embarrassed me—
your stout body, your
mischievous smile did not.
You were familial.
The first poem I wrote
that sounded like me
echoed your work.
Copal, popote, tocayo, cacahuate:
you taught me Spanish
is a colonial tongue.
Some Mesoamerican elders
believed there’s a fifth direction.
Not the sky or the ground
but the person right next to you.
I’m turning to face you, maestro.
I’m greeting you.
Tahui.
Copyright © 2020 by Eduardo C. Corral. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on May 27, 2020, by the Academy of American Poets.
every tree
a brother
every hill
a pyramid
a holy spot
every valley
a poem
in xochitl
in cuicatl
flower and song
every cloud
a prayer
every rain
drop
a miracle
every body
a seashore
a memory
at once lost
and found.
we all together—
fireflies
in the night
dreaming up
the cosmos
cada árbol
un hermano
cada monte
una pirámide
un oratorio
cada valle
un poema
in xochitl
in cuicatl
flor y canto
cada nube
una plegaria
cada gota
de lluvia
un milagro
cada cuerpo
una orilla
al mar
un olvido
encontrado
todos juntos—
luciérnagas
de la noche
soñando
el cosmos
cece cuahuitl
ca totiachcauh
cecen tepetontli
ca tzacualli
ca teoyocan
cecen tepeihtic
ca cuicayotl
in xochitl
in cuicatl
xochicuicatl
cecem mixtli
ca tlahtlauhtiliztli
cecen atl
ichipinca
cece tlactli
ca atentli
ca necauhcayotl
poliuhqui
in oc tlanextilli
nehhuantin tocepan—
tixoxotlameh
yohuatzinco
tictemiquih
in cemanahuactli
From Snake Poems An Aztec Invocation, by Francisco X. Alarcón (University of Arizona Press)