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My Maria
Knowing her a season of Saturday nights
luz de la luna shines above her head
when she comes out the front door.
Until tonight, she hid a constellation
seven stars alternate, blacks and whites,
from the top of her tanned lead foot.
Her conquering toes curl for grip.
My señora stands on the edge
of this world, trampling snakes.
Maria dances prayer with cumbia beat.
She sighs satisfied with questions,
and sleeps on the car-ride home.
Her answer is reflected in the crowd, gathered in her eyes.
A shawl full of roses reveals her face, on Sunday morning.
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