Old Woman

I see Senora Sanchez along the river. Black catfish pop the silver water surface, waves unroll as the gnarled bronze face and black eyes remember cool sea shells and warm turquoise, the turkey gobbling behind bushes, and the red skirt hanging on boughs as she bathed…. She pulls her black sweater snug around her, folded arms across her stomach. She who remembers cannot say amen but smiles to sunrise as she walks through the grass, the tall, green grass, grass that does not listen to the priest in black robes, blooms green as she walks through the grass and talks with them.