Outside the little parish in Sasabe I
met a couple of new friends and peed on the hill
behind the church. A horse walked by and we ate simple tamales
in the courtyard.
Inside three young women sitting in
front of me sang repetitive refrains and the local padre
decided now was the time to express his
personal solidarity with the poor migrants.
Everything was done with translation,
and it was already afternoon and though of course
the padre
was sincere all I could wonder was when will we ever leave this town?
Religious people like me were then asked
to say a few words of greetings.
It took time but finally we could
stand up, get in line, and receive a dribble of water on our heads,
water for a
slow walk through the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge.
All the while, at the front of the
parish, near the bowl of water and the cheerful padre,
three caskets waited to remind that out
there in the desert, beyond the wall, there are bones.
After the last blessing for the long road
I grabbed the small handle of a casket with my left hand.
Jack, a veteran of these walks, was on
the other side.
We staggered down the steps and onto the
rocky, dirt road of this border town, the hot sun
bathing our bodies. Soon enough I had to change the position of
my fingers to manage
the casket, the small handle and my
knuckles making an awkward match.
We walked, hardly saying a word, my
fingers resigned to a mile-long ache.
A few dogs barked. The local police offered an escort. Some children stood and watched
the strange procession. And then, over the next hill, stretching as
far as I could see, the wall,
and beyond the wall, somewhere, there
are bones.
The still desert becomes our teacher.
The chollas' thorns naked beauty, the blossom within the silent saguaro,
the dry wadi where water cascades after a desert storm, the patches of desert grass,
the sun-baked earth, the ancient rock formations, the sacred Baboquivari.
This desert land holds the dreams of all who walk its dusty path.
The Tohono O’odham preserve timeless memories and wish to live the hopes of the ancestors.
The weary migrant thinks of a house with a yard, a swing set for the children,
enough room to grow corn, chilies, and tomatoes.
Others walk to say that some dreams end because the desert holds the knowledge,
The chollas' thorns naked beauty, the blossom within the silent saguaro,
the dry wadi where water cascades after a desert storm, the patches of desert grass,
the sun-baked earth, the ancient rock formations, the sacred Baboquivari.
This desert land holds the dreams of all who walk its dusty path.
The Tohono O’odham preserve timeless memories and wish to live the hopes of the ancestors.
The weary migrant thinks of a house with a yard, a swing set for the children,
enough room to grow corn, chilies, and tomatoes.
Others walk to say that some dreams end because the desert holds the knowledge,
the truth, that there are bones.
These are the bones of the tio who crossed to find family in California.
He promised to stand in line at 4:30 in the morning to catch a van to work in the fields
These are the bones of the tio who crossed to find family in California.
He promised to stand in line at 4:30 in the morning to catch a van to work in the fields
to weed, pick, and prune. No matter.
He would drive old tractors, working hard no matter
that it was dirty and the hours long.
Just so the children can someday learn ingles
and play
the other futbol and sing in the school choir and hold test tubes in a
chemistry lab
and carry their own books.
It’s true, he thought.
Maybe they will come to forget the feel
of the sea breeze in Guerrero.
Maybe they will come to forget the pride
of the Coloso or the music in
Guadalajara.
Maybe they will forget the smacking
sound of tortillas in a woman’s hands
or the quiet of a village in the
mountains near Guatemala.
Maybe in time the language of their
birth will grow unnatural.
But these things will always be known,
he said before he left, deep down in their bones.
This is what he said.
Today the family on both sides of this great wall still waits.
The desert holds its breath.
And somewhere there are bones.
This is what he said.
Today the family on both sides of this great wall still waits.
The desert holds its breath.
And somewhere there are bones.
