Edahí and I walk hand in hand after a chance meeting on the sidewalk,
His eyes are brimming with uncontained excitement
his cousin, Lian, skips along behind after five years in the United States,
is so excited to be home discovering her pueblo mágico
not a cloud in the sky just inscrutable depth
everything drenched in a deluge of wonder
tonight the streets shine just for her
here and there the Milky Way peaks through
from beyond the threadbare veil of electric light
She asks if I speak English
and is delighted there is someone else who shares her code.
In the Parroquia San Pedro de los Pozos
aflame with the light centuries collected
reflecting from gold leaf and silver
And there la Virgen del Carmen, la Fátima, San Pedro himself
And of course, el Cristo, el señor de los trabajos at the center
In this nave faith is everything
A sea of of people from the pueblo
listens to Bach on Violin
listening to Carlos Gardel
and to duet of bésame mucho in an arrangement made for the evening
Most of the women wear their hair down
Dark rivers of fathomless mystery
Even those with their tied back
carry the ancestral shroud of their ancestral origin
glowing inwardly
Salud with her two handsome sons on either side
listens attentively then her eyelids drop
a long day but she is here
Beside me Edahí plays
—the grandson of Eduardo the deceased artist
who was my friend
coconspirator in finding wonder—
but finally says he is bored...
his grandmother, Lian and Edahí trickle
out through the pews before the concert has ended.
Closer to the front Salud— who used to make tortillas on a woodburning comal,
and now sells the plants she cultivates—sits up tall in the space between her sons.
The Covarrubias are all present.
Those who are absent but indelibly inked on the parchment of our souls are also here
carried in on the vibrant strings of violins.
—Lorena Wolfman (Agosto 2025)
