Ten Dry Summers Ago

You could’ve planted Bermuda grass,
your neighbor to the right says.
but no, you didn’t
…and yes it’s true
your life
never depended on it…

so now I have to landscape
this bare and godless ground
that keeps eroding
into flyaway dust
changing hands
as easily as identity

have to dance, pivoting
–as a Chicano would say–
“en un daimito”
watering this wasteland

have to keep it moist
until it grows
until there’s room enough
to hold
your god and mine

Angela de Hoyos

This poem is from  Woman, Woman (1985) published by Arte Público Press

Here’a an interview with de Hoyos at NeighborhoodLink.com