Mama Lolita (November 2020)

Estamos aquí en San Juancito. 
The Quetzal is in the cloud forest. 
My feet are in the mud. 
We are the mud.

Clay. 
Terra. 
Terracotta.
La tierra. 

At first, in The Great Before, 
The mudslides brought the topsoil down, 
Down, 
Down. 

The water was no longer potable. 
You see, The Great Machine of the North bought the water,
And sold it back to us wrapped in plastic. 

The machismo, well, you know. 
You saw her 
Covered in bruises,
And you knew but didn’t say a word. 

She is now the town’s orator. The Great Truth Teller. 
Mama Lolita. The little Lola with a voice. 
We follow her, 
All barefoot. 

The soil and the rock of the river are smooth with tears and time. 
We sit to hear her tell the tales— 
To remember The Great Before,
To better The Great Now, 
And to prepare for The Great Coming. 

The Maya lived here once.
They used the blue earth for vessels—
To drink,
To eat,
To store.

Then they came
In The Great Before. 
They extracted the blue clay from la montaña,
reaching inside of her womb,
searching for something that would shine.

And when they found what they came to find,
they left her empty and open.
The Great Hysterectomy.
They left.

During The Great Before,
Mama Lolita climbed through the hills, 
And upon reaching la montaña
She cried the Quetzal’s song.  

She cried until her tears ran red, green, and blue.
And when they fell into the earth, 
Quetzal birds flew to her from the trees.  
And together 
In The Great Song,
The Quetzals sang back into las minas. 

La montaña trembled.
The ripest mangos on the mango trees fell into the mouths of the hungry donkeys. 
The chickens knew, and the roosters kept on puffing quiquiriqui, quiquiriqui. 

The people ran out of their homes to see the sky turn from
Red, 
to Green, 
to Blue,
And then they knew, too.

The soil was blue again.
The Great Before had become The Great Now. 

And if you ever want to find the shoes,
Go down to the river.
You will see them filled with blue clay
With the young mango trees taking root inside.