Chihuahua 1913

(A second poem from my "American Ofrenda" collection, a series of poetic stories drawn from the lives of my immigrant familia in the U.S.  If  you'd like to support this project (no money involved) please subscribe to this blog, or to my blogs on Substack or YouTube.  Gracias.) 

In my imagination

I see them standing there,

on the platform,

while the train beside them

champs and steams,

Chihuahua 1913.

In my imagination

mi abuela reaches for him,

straightens the fine suit

they’ve tailored together,

brushes away the dust

that’s come riding in

on the hot wind

to mar his shoulders.

In my imagination

the whistle blows,

the conductor calls,

and mi abuelo

removes his fedora,

then bends to her cheek

with a kiss,

so gentlemanly,

so stiffly.

And perhaps he whispers 

“Lo siento,”

words she brushes away

like the sand

from his suit

as she has done

many times before.

But he is sorry,

for the drunken nights,

the shouted curses,

the broken plates,

the hidden frailty,

the dark blood of ancestry,

and so much left unsaid.

And then, in my imagining,

the whistle blows again,

the conductor shouts,

and with one last look of longing,

one last word of love

to her and to the niños —

Guadalupe, Heriberto,

and the dream of Rafael —

he picks up his suitcase,

battered as roughly 

as his corazón, 

and turns away.

A few short steps, 

a forever trek

to the long impatient train,

straining and steaming,

iron horse singing

to be gone,

to be away,

away,

away.

Adios to familia,

adios to all familiar terrain.

In my imagination,

as the cars begin to move

I am on board next to him

on my own immigrant viaje

across time’s cold forgetting,

across stories never told,

across rusty tracks of memories 

riding out of that station.

In my imagination

I turn as he turns

and we both look back

to her eyes,

to her tears,

to her fears,

to their casa,

to their canción,

to their ciudad.

His heart, my heart

filled with regret

like a thirst that cannot

be assuaged,

like a hunger

that eats la alma away

as his home recedes 

in the distance,

as our home fades away.

What thoughts,

what pictures,

what tears,

what curses,

what storms,

what fears

shake him,

shake me, 

in those trembling seats,

on that desperate voyage

through canyons and deserts,

mountains, forests, 

ranches, cacti, sand, 

and bloodied rivers?

What sundowns,

what shakedowns,

what stars do we share

along the unforgiving tracks

clacking and sparking

in a hard iron drumbeat

as we each say goodbye

to his own,

to his past,

to his México.