Indígena
Indian
woman i see you
your
braided dirt black hair
see
you working, begging hard
your
husband in the straw hat
see
you pregnant with a baby in your arms
your
children sell chickles on the street
you
walk, everywhere
your
shoeless feet look tired like your empty eyes
are
you really as stoic as your wrinkled face tells the world
was
it when you stopped crying that your smile left you too