naomi

D. Ellis Phelps

along the rio grande
among carnelian melons
& orange      groves
 
you can hear the coyotes     
crooning       to a moon     
wide and bright    as
 
the river         she loves
 
naomi crossed this borderland
for freedom      cradling her infant
son in her arms    smothering his cries
 
to quiet him:
 
she cupped          his mouth
with her warm     brown hand

 ~

she comes each week     to clean
 
solo hablo un poquito español
i speak only a little spanish      i say
 
she speaks no english      and so we agree
to teach each other          laughing a lot
at the language
 
barrier

~

we are standing in the kitchen
with her naked toddler son      the one
she cradled and silenced in the box car
where the coyotaje had hidden them
 
the one she rode from her
beloved guatemala to tejas
 
                   so many hours
 
con muchas otras desplazadas
 
 
                    so many displaced

  ~

& when the rocking
of the hot      hot box
               did not stop
her son’s crying    
 
i had to cover his mouth with my hands
 
she says
 
and just at this
her son      has to go
& does not know
 
he does not know
how his mother’s hands
have just cleaned this tile
how she has scrubbed
 
& cupped    to save him
 
and so he lets his urine:
 
an easy      yellow flow
on the floor      but quick
 
his mother cups her hands
      to catch it…