Pat Mora’s Lessons
The desert is powerless
when thunder shakes the hot air
and unfamiliar raindrops slide
on rocks, sand, mesquite,
when unfamiliar raindrops overwhelm
her, distort her face.
But after the storm, she breathes deeply,
caressed by a fresh sweet calm.
My Mother smiles rainbows.
When I feel shaken, powerless
to stop my bruising sadness,
I hear My Mother whisper:
don’t fear your hot tears
cry away the storm, then listen, listen.
Small, white fairies dance
on the Rio Grande. Usually they swim
Deep through their days and nights
hiding from our eyes but when the white
sun pulls them up, up
they leap about, tiny shimmering stars.
The desert says: feel the sun
luring your from your dark, sad waters,
burst through the surface