Guatemala changes to winter in May

and then cold the rain comes.

Storm clouds gather in council on the mountains

to beat warm their thunder drums.

The roses return to full bloom in the garden

and their thorns love like razors.

Drops fall heavy on adobe ground

to hide weary undulators.

———————————————

Who calls anxious to the river

but the water

Who calls worried to the dirt road

but the mud

And who calls angry at the winter

but sompopos at dinner

Who calls quickly to their children

but a mother who knows the flood

Where will the flood take the hillside

but to the river where water returns

And sompopos in May,

what right they have dismay

When they had all summer to run

———————————————–

The mudstomp is at 5:30 tonight

All the mudstompers will be there

Even the ones who don’t stomp too good

Be stomping at the mud affair.

Paty’s a good stomper

She stomps with her brother

And the rain don’t bother

Them much.

Gustavo’s the best

He stomps better than the rest

He was born a good boy

With a mudstompin touch.

We’ll stomp for an hour

before mother yells for showers

And when the stomping ends

We’ll part for the night

With the mud stomped just right

Stomped good by me and my kin.