Paradelle for the Rio Grande

I walk down to the river each visit home. 

I walk down to the river each visit home. 

Always thinking of the flow of life.

Always thinking of the flow of life. 

I visit each flow home thinking always of 

Of life to the river walk down the 

Following the path of the Rio Grande. 

Following the path of the Rio Grande. 

Where we once played amongst the cattails. 

Where we once played amongst the cattails. 

Cattails of the Rio Grande played once. 

Where we, following the path amongst the 

I remember once swimming there.

I remember once swimming there.

The current strong, the mud rich water. 

The current strong, the mud rich water. 

Remember I the water mud current. 

Once rich swimming there strong the. 

I visit swimming the life current. 

Cattails of the Rio Grande of home I remember. 

Where we played, always thinking of following. 

The water once amongst the rich. 

Each flow there strong. 

The mud walk down the river path the to. 

© Anne Cressin, 2013 

Santa Elena Canyon rises above the Rio Grande
Photo by Blair Pittman, EPA
from the National Archives and Records Administration

Ancient Conversations

The river of our tongues has dried to cracked earth.  

Too long since wear, crawfish pronunciations,

and bullfrog syllables are shells and lumps of sand now.

Ē kapuna, make wai ‘ia au.

I am thirsty for the metaphors of our grandmothers,

their every breath a prayer for peace and unchecked giving,

and receiving was as easy as a nap with a pole in my hand on a warm day.

I crave the torrents from times when women were gardens

and there was only one table to put a vase on.

Yet in place of flowers, homework, and electronic debris,

bountiful food prepared with god in mind was served

to strangers passing through the channel.

© Sarah Bordeau-Rigterink, 2012

Hawaiians eating poi, c. 1896
Photo by Strohmeyer & Wyman
From Wikimedia Commons/Library of Congress