Maria's Voice

You buried your only son

with your tongue, Maria.

Who speaks of him now

even in cornfields laced

with starving revolutions?

*

You lay on your back

in the stable empty of rations,

and three machismo ghosts

return to see if you’re ready

for the milk of the North.

*

You take an empty vessel

and fill it with amniotic water.

You water one corn stalk

at a time until the moans

you make no longer carry.

*

Your daydreams once stopped your

heart, whether yours or his,

so you pour the water over your

head three times and scratch

each door to a silent heaven.

*

Now, you curse robes and crowns.

Are no witness to the birth.

Sing a thousand pleas, and you

won’t be heard until some guy

in a Hawaiian shirt bows sometime

before the cross.