The Wailing Woman

I did not return,
To the far Salinas,
The desolate salt flats,
The white Salinas,
Full of phantoms,
Wanting to be,
Haunting me,
The Salinas of ever-restless winds,
Forever blowing under my door.

At first, I thought I did not return,
Because of the bitter taste of the salt in the air,
Because of the treeless plains,
And, the disillusioned sand.

I thought,
I did not return,
Because the searing sun,
Would strike my face with a slap.
I thought,
The lack of rain would sober me up.
I would be disoriented by the absence of rivers,
And, the dearth of things,
Flowing downstream.

I thought, it was,
Because of the nonexistence,
Of the intensions of clouds.
I thought, it was,
Because I did not want to see,
The dizzy gleam in the old prospector’s eye,
Lost in his own mind,
Wandering, without remembering why,
Into mirages and illusive mountains,
Oasis daydreams and elusive fountains.
I thought I did not want to encounter,
The outlines of yesterday,
And, ghosts,
Floating with the rise of the moon.

I did not want to walk over the dead ground,
To tread on hollow roots,
To hear the empty sighs of the earth under my feet,
Full of memories and reverberations.

I did not want to be struck by the wild delirium,
Caused by the rattlesnake’s bite.
I did not want to taste the overly ripe apples,
To smell the odor of stinging, alkaline springs,
To feel salt crystals grow on my skin.
I did not want to see how quickly my blood would dry,
And, disappear into the soil when I die.

But, in the end, it was none of these things.
I did not return,
Because I feared to hear,
The sighs of the setting sun,
The throbbing whimpers,
Rising with the first, faint star,
The piercing sound of unforgiving tears,
And, the lonely banshee cries,
From the broken heart of the Wailing Woman,
Infusing the lightning and the thunder,
With the expression of extinction,
And, the oppression of oblivion,
Bemoaning the demise of a people,
Ghosts of sons and daughters,
Filling the omnipresent sky,
Between the rolling dunes,
And, the scratching thorns,
With the moans of failing rituals,
And, falling gods,
Flowing out of yesterday’s darkness,
From the Mayan shore,
To the center of the world.

[April 2015]

Reviews

[David Scott]

I enjoyed this poetry Vishu.
Do we ever really know the why of our own choices? Do we ever have the courage to choose other than we have in the past... ?
The wailing is an acknowledgement of loss. This is well and good, but loss requires a memory or understanding of something better as well.
A cathartic poem and a lesson in history.
Well done.

[Avinash]

You carry many stories and furthermore in and between your words here. The analogies are not just the geography of a certain place but entire history of it. It covers the breadth and length of an entire region inside the mind as well as outside.

[Vishuddha]

The Wailing Woman was once a prophet, wailing for what was to come. Now, she wails for what has already happened and which we would prefer to forget.

[B]

An array of mystery streaking along the entire poem
I love your use of nature on almost every line

Divinely beautiful

[Vishuddha]

Yes, I am a nature lover. Of course, that's pretty much all there is out in the desert. I did live there once but I don't expect to live there again. Nothing to do there but get lost in your thoughts, which are not always divinely beautiful. Thank you for your lovely review.

[Workvio]

A very enjoyable poem ... Clearly your Hispanic roots have taken up residence with you, and the spirits of your ancestors speak through your pen ...

[Vishuddha]

Sorry, I have no Hispanic roots. Daughters of the American Revolution from both sides of the family tree. Valeria is not an Hispanic name. It is the female form of Valerius, Latin for Valor, i.e. Constantine Valerius Maximus. The name is said to have been in every second generation my mother's family since the Romans occupied Briton. Her family is Anglo Saxon. My father's family came from the Cornish Coast. My husband is Cuban.
I suspect the spirits which speak here are Anasazi or Hopi or Mayan.

[Workvio]

Wow, how do you explain your last name? ...

[Vishuddha]

Cuban husband.

[Workvio]

Ah, I see said the blind man ...

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Just beautiful, Lily. With this third poem you indeed have three fine poems about the dessert like you said before. You should say at first sight that there isn't so much to say about the dessert, but you prove otherwise. So much to say an so much to read. I think I will reread these three poems a lot of times, can learn about it too. Thanks for sharing. :) Rudi

[Vishuddha]

I think everyone reacts differently and to learn about the desert you will have to go there. Your impressions might be completely different. Actually, I have not been back to the desert for 20 years, so, my impressions might be completely different today. I wrote these from memories and a few old notes I ran across. Everything changes all the time.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

That's so right, Lily. Everything changes all the time, it's the silent current of time. :) Rudi

[Vishuddha]

Oh, I like that phrase! Very poetic.

[Rudi J.P. Lejaeghere]

Well, I've posted a poem yesterday 'Silent current'. It's about time and becoming old. If you are interested, please have a look. No obligation, of course. :) Rudi

[andrew mitchell]

Absolutely tremendous piece. What an epic poem with flow and imagery that flows down your pen like the Amazon. So descriptive my flow of writes seems like a trickle in comparison. How talented you are in verse and your knowledge of words

[Vishuddha]

I cannot compare your poems and mine. You have such a delightful sense of fun and humor, in your writing, which I don't have, in my writing, at all. Opposites attract. Much thanks for the praise.