by Charles Clayton
The longer I live here the more depressing it gets. The murders, the rapes, the gangs, the heroin, the corruption...a cauldron of darkness that simmers just below the happy surface of art galleries and organic espresso. It's always there, probably always has been, and nothing here seems to get any better or worse—just more of the same. So don't expect bike paths any time soon, or quality public schools, or an end to the nepotism and cronyism in the halls of power. Not now. Not mañana. Not ever.
It can be frustrating, but occasionally that centuries old inability to change is a thing of beauty. A slaughtered pig bouncing in the back of a pickup truck. Huge mounds of firewood outside of so many homes. Grandmas plucking chokecherries from neighborhood trees. Battered old trucks and cars held together by bailing wire and necessity. Families gathering pinon nuts each fall. The throng of women in front of Super Save at the end of summer, their shopping carts lined up and overflowing with burlap sacks of green chiles begging to be roasted.
Green Chile
by Johanna DeBiase
I lived life as a rancher in a small
village along the banks of the Rio Grande, the same village that I
was born in. I never married or had any children. I was shy and
unfortunate in love. All my nieces and nephews moved away to the city
and never bothered to visit me after my parents died. I loved my
horses, but they were poor company, always keeping to the pasture. I
spent everyday in the same way, repeating the same tasks over and
over until I was like a machine. They may have replaced me with a
machine after they buried my stack of bones in the cluster of graves
behind my house. A lapsed Catholic, I always suspected I would float
away to some place not quite as dull.
Instead, I came back as a chili pepper,
a green hatch strain, raised in the greenhouse of some bohemian types
where I shared space with their pot plants. At first, I was not sure
what to make of it all. They chopped me up and fixed me into a mean
salsa. They tossed me on everything from tacos to enchiladas to eggs.
They savored me with every bite and I was finally alleviated.
taos springs life-like
by Robin Powesland
the smell of rain on sage
I tell him is special
it's why we are here
I
think he gets it
what's special
small in-decisions
dirt in rows waiting
there is always a leaving
coming from inside
it's why we are here
I think he gets it
why we love each
other
that the sun is a stronger friend
one that stammers shamelessly
days are open shortly
and I already see the waves
washing us ashore this new kind
of desert
