• Vol. 04
  • Chapter 11


Night falls slow under the prickly pear
it is time to stir maize meal, roll tortilla,
keep one eye on the fire.
Poor man’s supper -
no cheese or meat to fill my quesadilla
just nopales pounded
with corn kernels and dried chilli
red as a setting sun.
I’ll wrap them in corn leaf
set them in the ashes to broil
while I attend to the horse.
I long for a pot of chocolate
but water is scarce here
and the light is running downhill
taking the warmth with it.
I keep some of the day’s heat
in my thick skirts - cactus-shadow blue
the same colour as the mountains
the same colour as a guan wing.
Once the chores are done
I’ll ask old Hawkface to move over
share his blanket.
He sits there silent, watchful
sparks in his eyes
always on look out.
But I’m the one who sees the fireflies
I’m the one who sees the eagle