2:45 pm
Old Woman
@
Dainzú
1
Dusty paths
meander beneath
a drifting sun.
Shiftless ruins
cloak the land
in worn-out
shadow rags.
Scrawny cattle
herded by an old man
and his sly-eyed dogs:
the old woman,
threatened,
stoops and picks up
a handful of stones.
Moving targets:
dust and shadows of dust.
So much stone and sand
sifted through the hand
and trodden underfoot.
3
In the distance,
a low mound
covered with grass and weeds:
her family’s ancestral home,
its bountiful community
abandoned to the wilderness,
to the wild thorn
thrusting its spear
through her mortal heart.
Weed-filled walls,
empty houses, ruined fields.
4
Wise old woman
with her hands full of stones:
that first rock
freed from her fist
booms thunder
off the sheep
in a wolf-skin’s
cowardly frame.
rogermoorepoet 
I have been working and re-working this poem. Hopefully it is now drawing near its final version.
LikeLike
Sometimes we must grasp that which is closest to us in both hands and hold it up for the world to admire … and hopefully partially understand. Best wishes.
LikeLike
This is beautiful. I have not been able to travel that far into Mexico, but I hope one day I will.
Thank you for inspiring me to write about a city called Apollonia, in Albania.
🙂 Dajena
LikeLike
Thank you, Tanya. I have posted the poem (so far) in sequence at the top right of this page. I would happily send you a copy of the original, but I only have one left. I’ll put you on the short list for a copy of the rewrite when it gets published.
LikeLike
Moving targets:
dust and shadows of dust.
So much stone and sand
sifted through the hand
and trodden underfoot.
I am glad that you are posting this in parts, because there is so much to think about in each one. When you are finished, I will go back and read the piece in full also. Great work, Roger!
LikeLiked by 1 person