Alma Luz Villanueva

January 1, 1970

Before I took off for Los Angeles to teach in the Antioch MFA creative writing program (the 10 day residency), I called the gas guys to come to fill my gas tank up as it was almost empty. Here in San Miguel, Mexico, the gas tank's up on the roof, so a large gas truck comes, nearly taking up the entire cobble street (lots of truck, bus and car drama daily as they pass by, but it remains surprisingly peaceful, except for when there's a stand-off of who's to back up, pass). One of the guys goes to the roof and throws a rope like a wrangler to another guy on the street...I say, "You look like a cowboy," and he says, "I wrangle little dogs too," (in Spanish), we laugh. After my gas tank is full, from the gauge maybe frighteningly full...if it blows my bed is right under it...I pay with a tip. Then, I hear them give a grito for joy, and it wasn't a huge tip, but enough for a delicious meal from a street vendor for each guy, with a beer even. The sound of their joy makes me laugh out loud, and I almost dread returning to the USA...as I fly over the ancient trade routes into L.A., an older Mexican couple sits next to me. When our meal is served, they hand mine to me with sweet smiles, they raise our arm rests, there's no 'boundaries' between us, the woman's hip meets mine and I consciously choose not to move (as I always did in the past, I admit it, 'my space' etc). We become a kind of little family as the drink cart comes by and I order an orange juice with tequilla, she orders one too, he a Corona with slice of lime (yes, they give you free drinks on Mexican airlines, more JOY). When they return for a refill, I order one more for the road into L.A....in Immigration, as I seamlessly pass through, except for the question, "Were you in Mexico for business or pleasure?" I answer, "Purely for pleasure, joy." He frowns then smiles, waving me through. But a Mexican family has been asked to step to the side, sit on a row of chairs for further investigation- a woman with her children from ages 4 to a teenager. I wish her, and her children, a safe journey through the human made border, the ancient trade route into L.A...and to all those who make the crossing on foot to add their labor to el otro lado, to those who make the crossing alive, and to those who don't...the ancient trade routes from the southern tip of South America to Canada, Kokopelli as our sacred witness, joy/chispas. (Kokopelli's fertile/potent image has been carved into stone from all the waves of Native migrations, north to south, south to north...for centuries.)

A poem from San Miguel- life is unedited in Mexico, the joy, the sorrow, it's all visible if we wish to see...and I wish to see and pass it on to you, whoever you are reading this now...

QUE BONITO

I saw a woman with a rainbow of
roses on her back at the
corner of my street-
I saw a tired child today, a Mayan

boy of maybe seven, resting
with his wares in a damp
doorway, and I swear
I saw his Death kiss him

gently on his left cheeck-
I was buying dried fuchsia
flowers from a woman who
looked a little like mi Tia,

and when I turned to walk
over, see if he was hungry,
he was gone (did Death kiss
his other cheek?)- my children

were never tired, maybe sick a
few days then back to their
true job of wearing me out
daily, also bringing me so much

joy I wanted to live- in the
market a small boy sold me
Chiclets, pointed to some
fruit, and as I paid for

our fruit he paid me with
the most joyous smile,
making me want to live. A
beautiful man with a corrected

harelip makes me pause to see
his paintings- wedding scene, the
village surrounding bride and
groom, dark night with full

moon, a blue lake beneath
and huge, golden fish leaping
in the night sky, glowing with
moonlight- he tells me his

name, Carmelo, that he painted
these, that they sell for more in
the stores, "Que bonito," I
say and his smile is

perfect. Death will kiss us
all on both cheeks, some
still in the womb dreaming, some
over a hundred, dreaming their lives

for the first time- when Death
comes to kiss me I wil sing
him a poem, and when he
murmurs, "Que bonito," I will

laugh and smile perfectly.


San Miguel de Allende- July 2005