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frontier Ballads |
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JESUS GARCIA
D
OWN in Sonora's wide, white lands, Lost in the endless waste of sands, Lies, like a blot of gray and brown, Nacozari, a desert town. All day long through its narrow street Children play in the dust and heat, Naked of limb and dark of face, Lithe as fawns in their careless grace, Chattering shrill in a half-caste speech Far from the Spanish the school rooms teach.
All day long by the doorways small Cut through the thick adobe wall, Or in the narrow belts of shade Here and there by the flat roofs made, Lounge the indolent, swarthy men, Moving sluggishly now and then Better to scan their dicing throws Under their low-tipped sombreros. But, for the most, content to lie Drowsing the listless hours by, Watching, each, as the thin, blue jet Curls from his drooping cigarette.
All day long, from the dawn's first flush When the mass is said in the morning hush Till fall of eve, when the vesper's peal Calls the faithful again to kneel, Nothing rouses the quiet place, Lulled in the desert's hushed embrace, Save when out of the distance dim, Over the far horizon's rim, Sudden a purring whisper comes, Rising swift, like the throb of drums, And the iron track which stretches forth, Straight as a lance from south to north, Quivers and sings in the mighty strain |
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