My world reclines at the mouth of the Chihuahua desert
in the shade of Franklin mountain
sustained by the russet ribbon of the Rio Grande.
Just below that dirty hem
like the ragged stockings of worn out charwomen
shanties crawl up the hillside
pushing against each other in
circuitous anxious support
casting out children
barefoot into the ferocity.
They shake their tiny boxes of despair
like maracas keeping frantic rhythm
as mothers howl
in voices without echoes
disappearing in the heat
rising from the desert floor.
Not One More