Challe

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