Why Does She Cry?
by Margie Domingo


Why does she cry?
The woman who yearns
to hold her babies once more...
close to her heart.
The Indian woman of the land
so innocent and pure
gave her heart to the Spaniard,
for she knows the meaning of love,
the giving of her soul,
the surrender of her will,
the purity of love that flowed from her heart,
as freely as the innocent river.

She had no fear of opening her arms to the magnetism
that melted her soul.
So unafraid to get lost,
in the embrace of her new love.
She accepted his domineering reassurance,
that she will enter
a renowned world of spiritual purity,
while her faith will be her baptism.

Her people surrendered a curious welcome,
to the strangers from afar,
Their confident stature a sign from the heavens,
For Hernan Cortes was believed by Moctezuma,
he could only be the God Quetzelcoatl,
presented by Malinche.
An innocent woman victimized,
because of her knowledge to speak their foreign tongue.

Why does she cry?
The woman who lost her children,
borne from the love
that only two souls can create?
two hearts joined together,
two cultures, two faces in the image
of their offspring.

The innocence of trust,
is not a license to overpower, molest or rape
the starry eyes of a child.
Trust from the eyes of Indio
was sincere and true,
and she willfully disowned her Gods of the earth,

the sun, and the moon,
as she listened to the voice,
that reflected her yearning heart.

Their love as powerful as the burning sun,
as tremulous as the rolling thunder,
creating a new world, a new body,
a new blood that will flow forever,
throughout all eternity.

The hot burning Latin blood,
that I now feel in my own veins.
My inheritance of the Spaniard
my inner desire to conquer and claim without remorse,
for I understand the meaning
of silent subjugation.
Cursed by the guilt of militant ravaging
that pierced the heart of virgin soil.

Why does she cry?
The woman who lost her people,
to the Conquistadores,
la Noche Triste,
the Night of Sorrow,
when he told her goodbye,
yet, he will let her live.
And, now he must take their children
to the land of Espaņa.
The stillness of the night after death,
filled her body with horror,
and her mind froze in despair.
She begged her Gods to forgive her
misguided trust and faith.

What must she do?
Torn by the madness of sin,
she fled with her babies to the river,
racing without breath
clinging to the prayer...
Will the water wash her pains?
Refresh the agonizing dirt from her soul,
and make her pure once more?
She buries her face in her arms
and cries for forgiveness.

Why does she cry?
Her heart is on fire,
afraid of tomorrow,
for today was stolen
by the unforgiving act
of lustful greed.

And now her babies...
she looks up to see.
Her babies are gone!
Stolen in the darkness of the night.
Lost in the water?
She knows not how.
Stolen by enemies?
She knows not who.

Now she cries,
with the curse of
La Llorona,
searching for her babies,
the stolen children of her blood.
Never...Never to be found.

Performed at Palabras Con Sabor, Denver CO
Copyright
margiedomingo@aol.com