Lenten Days

For me, Lent occupies a place of both sadness and anticipation -- the end of winter, the beginning of spring. And always, always the wind here in Albuquerque, in El Paso, and in the llanos of Eastern New Mexico and West Texas. El viento que nunca duerme.

"Lent in El Paso"

blows forty days
of dust-devils

lentil soup
capirotada

and the daily litany
of wind across the city.

Afternoons, the cottonwoods
tumble like sagebrush

the ocotillos creak
like crucifixes

and women walk
with their buttocks

tucked in tight
under their skirts.

All along the border
the river speaks

in wild tongues
the voices of the penitent

ululate in jail cells
and confessionals

and women weep
for their murdered sons.

At night the litany stills
on the branches and the grass

rises again, dazed
after the whipping

but stronger and more alive.
In El Paso the wind of Lent

blows forty faithful days
without contrition."


-- Alicia Gaspar de Alba

I love this poem. I come back to it every Lent and re-read and re-read. Gracias, Alicia.