Chimayo

I heard you
crying
in the shower
while I was talking
with my sister
on the phone
last night—

not a little cry,
not a I stubbed my toe
on the shower’s edge
cry,
not a I lost my favorite
gecko earring
cry,

not a moan—

deeper,

a harmonic,

with  roots
in Mexico,
with roots
in Spain & France,
with roots

in woman,
crying for lost
sons.

& I
was afraid,

as the sound
resonated
 
through the glass shower,
& through the floor,
into my feet,
wrapping itself
from the inside
around the bones,
holding me together,

making right
with creation,

so together,
man & woman,

we cry
for our lost
sons.

& I wanted to thank you,
woman,

as my sister & I
wrapped up our talk,
slipping from the real
into the millennium
& computer problems,
& said bye.