Tarahumara

They were peaceful but were hunted for their scalps.
They ran long distances to escape.
Retreating into the heated lung of Copper Canyon.
(the last outpost of heaven).

Today they tend to be shy for good reason.
They mind their own business.
Sowing charred fields.
Milking parched goats.
Going for long runs just to have a sip of tea with a friend.
To maintain the runner's edge.
Cartels always on their periphery.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2023

Poem

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Romios Avatar
January 22, 2023 at 2:13 PM
Powerful, Anthony! Makes some of us think. What mortals are these! Creeps, in one word. Panagiota Panagiota.
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