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Virgen de Guadalupe
scrape her roses from the floor
The lighted path shimmers
in the mountains
as we walk like goats
surefooted and into high
places
Lofty dreams encompass
the transitions
and splendor shakes a tail feather
peacocked into cries for 
water, light and love
Challe in the toilet stall
Hands clenched, mouth moving
She could not shout
Shall the world let her fall?
Offer her soothing
Help through this bout?
Shall we notice at all?
Her sad self loathing
Draped in self doubt
Challe head against the wall
Her mind is roving
Confused, distraught
Challe
Orphaned child
Witnessed mother’s murder
Never able to cry
Numb
La Pieta
hold open her new door
The best is yet to come
We whisper as we
stick our fingers down
her throat
Virgen de Guadalupe
scrape her roses from the floor
holding her slashed wrists
until the ambulance arrives
and extracts
her overdosed pills and
her nightmares
into visions
of the ever present gift
that even murderers
could not take away
Rocking her like
a baby we sing
to her of a new
day and a new 
song where she
will cry no more
and we assure her
with our lips to hers
that we will breathe
for her for a while
until she births her
new self all green
and rare like a 
butterfly thought
extinct suddenly
appeared

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