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Fall 2005







Full Moon In Bravado
Theresa Garcia

The silence of fireflies personalized her sounds
Emotions like some vicious animated kaleidoscope of feelings
inharmonious babbling
translated into a thousand messages
I will tell you the tale of the swamp child
who danced by raging bonfires
embracing the creatures that lurked within the dark shifting waters
accepting natures, both good and evil
on the backdrop of an entirely silver horizon
where stars and moons reflection
created a pool of light
in the currents of a lake
A hiding place where she bowed her head away from the crowd
of betrayal and lack of trust

He reached for a packet of cedar sticks from his breast pocket
broke one off and stuck it in his mouth
She watched the cedar splinter travel over his lower lip
from one corner to the other
shoved by his tongue

There was in him a passionate resistance to conformity
rooted in his physical traits
His eyes dark with an enameled brilliance
His smooth skin, honey colored
His black hair independent, fiercely warlike
He was known as the masked rebel leader
believed to be of mixed Indian and Spanish blood
with a sharply defined personality
solitary by nature and defiant

He was interesting but a depressing transitional type
who was good at spinning elaborate tales
off the top of his head
His personal stories complete fabrications
offered up with cold calculation
a callous bid to gain her trust, fake her out
win her over
but the sudden flashes of unguarded emotions
and anger were true
yet she yielded to his fiery spirit
believed in his passions
and succumbed to his sensual sensations

Stimulus of color
unusual alacrity and sensibility
forces of dazzling light
silvery green of wild myrtle, thyme, and rosemary
sparsely cultivated plateau
revealing strips of ploughed red earth
edged with trees
dust storms swirled
a wooden stage and rows of tree-trunk benches situated on a dry, partly deforested hilltop
where rain has become scarce

On this platform the rebel commander assembles
Five thousand people come from the surrounding villages
Viva The Zapatistas
Nahuas, Popolocas, Mixtecos, Mazatecos unite
They are the rebel dignity, the forgotten heart
Aztec dancers, music, speakers, art
Full Moon In Bravado

From a distance she watches
with ill fitting clothes
so tattered they look like rags
plastic sandals ripping on the sides
She has a peso to buy her baby an egg for supper
instead of tortillas and salt
As for herself
she only needs him to nourish her soul
and her daily diet of tortillas, salsa made with chilis, water and salt
He provides the hope
He is the builder of a house called the world
in which all fit equally and each one different
so that memories may live
and so that which is alive shall never be lost
obscured by the blackness of the night
in the shadow of Orizaba