By Nanette Guadiano-Campos

The woman cries for her lost children
In the eerie stillness of this Texas night
Cicadas cease their painful ballad
Out of respect for the banshee-mother

The moon lights the way
For the crazy beautiful, loca hermosa,
Woman with snakes for hair
A blending of myths

She grabs her skirts,
Heavy with water from the creek
She wades in, barefoot
Slugging through the algae of her nightmare

She is tired, this lyrical creature,
Of salt in her eyes, and mud on her feet
But, god-help-her, she's a mother
And, as such, will keep searching
For her lost criaturas, this lost criatura,
This banshee-woman
This stiller of wild beasts, silencer of cicadas

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