Creel, Sierra Tarahumara

He ran to the mountain. They were arguing again. This time it rained warm, covering him the way she should have but yelled instead at father. When the steam stopped rising from the ground and the sun’s bleed lessened he walked back past the tire shop the old dog barked at him and then stopped. He came in the back door. She had made tamales and he was eating quietly by himself- The battle over. He sat and ate too and saw his future- The mountain, the rain the mist, the steam And the silence that comes after.