Tierra Amarilla at Dusk (1969).

Martinez, Elizabeth "Betita" Sutherland

Tierra Amarilla at Dusk (1969)

(For Rees, for Pete, for all of us, August 25)

   Birds make evening noises, tired and dreamy
   Fields stretch toward night and dry cows low
   Hungry ugly dogs bark, brown-eyed children whine
   Across the town, women stoke their wood stoves, staring
      into quick flames
   Their old young faces unreadable.
   A young macho walks the western street
   Cat-calls, whore-calls, lonely he cries for love
   At the blackening mountains
   Where the sun goes down in an orange universe
   And there is nothing to do at night.
   Amerika, do you have other towns like this?
   Of course but my heart runs out to this one,
   Exults and breaks.
   I know you by instinct, town
   Know your ancestry of failure,
   Your angers and hungers,
   And the bloody dream in your guts.
   Barren streets, hollow bars, abandoned homes,
   A brown squatness, then quick red death at the Saturday night
      dance:
   Why do I love you so, town?
   How to tell others about that love?
   They must come here
   They must walk here
   They must pass through the hell
   And find the heartbeat.
   The young macho walks on by
   Looks briefly at the first star
   And smiles at himself
   On down the dusty road he goes
   In work pants, boots, short sleeves,
   And a rich black tophat on his high head, andale!
   It is the laugh and the survival
   The heartbeat of this love
   Tierra Amarilla.