A poem by Rudy H. García

I listen to the River,
Because my body is molded with its fertile clay
My blood mingles with its rejuvenating water,
Cleansing my spirit free.
I listen to the river
Because I hear over and over from the Eagle and the Jaguar
That the name is El Rio Bravo…The Brave River
I too am brave.

I listen to the river
Because its currents, sing storied corridors corriendo thru me
It sings to me in olden tongues flowing mystically within me
I hear the ancient melody of
Teco’s verses fishing bass, Navajo maidens, chanting, washing by its shallow banks, Comanche yelps, watering painted mustangs
And La IIorona’s eternal, repenting, sorrowful woes, searching
For the bodies of her starving Angelitos she insanely submerged there many, many, years ago.

I listen to the river
Because it’s an elder to me, like my grand father was, like my grand mother was, like my father was,
Like my mother is.

I listen to the river
Because it whispers journeyed secrets to me, it ripples its origin and destination to my relative cosmic mind,
Its white waters
Its tumbling persistent power
Through every tributary blood vessel of my incarnated soul
It tells me, that everything that exits its Boca Chica, is a new beginning…like Spring flowering new life…
Like the Arco Iris and its colors, symbolizing hope.

I listen to the river
Because it beckons me, it washes me, it cleanses me, and it tells me of a John, living there, waiting for me.
He too is brave
Like the river and me.

October 2006