earth's crammed with heaven*

it is.
i know it
when i watch your green and dusty brown beauty rush past me,
and when i let the cool breeze touch me, and when the pine needle-covered path could trick me into a midwest fall day.
you tell me i can bring some fruta to your home
and maybe i still don't recognize the weight of this compliment.
but never mind the weight of compliments when you hold the weight of a husband who's long gone and the weight of protecting daughters from a people who have suffered enough to now create their own victims.
but the hills are beautiful,
after you catch your breath at the top, kick a few dried cow pies down the slope, and find the loyola center through the binocular lens.
is this life that i taste anything like a charamusca?
unwanted at first for its overbearing flavor but slowly appreciated as the cinnamon of this particular one sets in.
tired, at the end of the day,
we are saying, thank you.
and the holy is now making herself present in the subtleties of language.
somos pobre, you say, they say.
call me by my real  name because my truth lies there.
solidarizarse, i have heard more than once.
why don't we have such a bundle of letters that can lead us to how we must live life?
para lo bueno, no hay dificultad.
si, hay, i say. but what you mean, i sense,
is that the difficult parts are lighter when we choose the journey that leads to life.
and earth is crammed with wrinkled faces,
and tanned skin,
and voices who proudly say, call me Andrecito, my guerilla name.
the water is cold enough to pause your heartbeat
for a moment,
but breathe into it, and it leads you to the cave with little waterfalls within
and rocks covered with the greenest moss,
green enough and soft enough to contemplate for a moment.
the common bush is afire with Your love,
as is the moss-covered rock,
and the wrinkled faces
and bright eyes that hold a history too deep for an afternoon visit.

*from Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Aurora Leigh, Book vii