My father walked me down to las posadas one calm winter night.

The fog was thick
And unable to see the stars
I quietly followed in.
Out of the duskiness
Appeared the familar
White lace shoulders and
Flickering lights.
Hands cusped in between ribs
Black hair settled on their backs
Tightly woven in a knot.
I remember the connection to our mother
Was stronger there than anywhere I had ever felt.
La Nuestra Senoras eyes gazed deeply around us
Against the dark nights
Their soft smiles
Gracious and enchanting
Hearty hearts of steel
I knew these people as
Warm
Willing
Weathered
By the storms of being dissipated
Blown into the winds of terror
A false divergence that made them illuminate ablaze
In contrast to the conservation of whiteness.

My grandmothers neighbor would come by
with a bag of tamales every so often.
Mass was held in the backyard
And I'd sit under the orange tree so that I could hear them speak in languages formed out of feelings
Sometimes they'd weep
Hold each others hands
in the lap of the other
Head draped on the families shoulder
There was a willingness
to carry the others heart
down to the river
and let it go.
Knowing that the same love
will always be carried within.
Even when we have lost sight of one another.

Snake skin and oiled hands
Chicano. Dark lips.
Chipped paint.
Earth scent ingrained.
Rough around the eyes
I still see her in each and every
Holy One I continue by.

Ella siempre sera mi luz en la oscuridad.

HS