May 6, 2005

These Are Your Shoes

We have the same
feet, Mother.
Wide, solid,
adventurous brown feet.

The suitcase of literature
taken from you
long ago—
I carry it in the trunk of
My life
the very same trunk you traveled with
from Puebla to San Antonio
Sola on an ambitious Mexican road
across a desert border
where the landscape was all yours
to explore and create.

In that very frontier
I now reside.

You passed it on to me,
Pursuit of La Vida Llena
in pink tacones.
I teach in them
like you once did:
Beloved Profesora,
the whole pueblito’s
maestra.

In another time
you danced in Miguelitos
with a golden reboso
and handmade Jalisco skirt.
This was the way you guided
the future
of red and green colors
and waves of brilliant movement.

That is me.
I am you.
These are your shoes.

—Perlita R. Dicochea, 2005

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