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Contents Page: April 1, 2011, vol 7 no 1

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Theresa Williams

 

Taos Pueblo

Hot wind carries sand across the village. Dogs pant in the shade of spindly limbs. Adobe ovens, round like old Ute Mountain, rise in the courtyard. A pile of broken cemetery markers rests beside what's left of the original missionary church. Today is the corn Dance. Women wear bright dresses and white knee-length moccasins. They dance, shifting their weight from foot to foot. Watching, a young Pueblo man bends to speak to a girl in pink. He gives her a peck on the lips and walks away smiling. She goes in the opposite direction, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

m
o
u
n
d
s
red ants building
a
t
o
p
the
graves

 

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