Thoughts from a Thinking Girl

Red orange orb glowing low

a child’s ball rolled down the mountain

stopped in the crevice of the other side

before it could reach the only one here who could catch it,

La Pípila.

A local man, miner, hero

forever honored in 800 megatons of cantera rosa

glowing pink all night long

a 25 metre-tall elegy to one who torched the gates of the Spaniards’ Alhóndiga

the first win in the battle for independence,

Juan José de los Reyes Martínez Amaro performed the miracle again

set fire to the sphere resting at his feet.

By the time I grabbed my notebook

the orb had disappeared

in its place an orange haze

by the time the second line was scribbled

no trace of it remained.

In this place where the Guanajuato River cleaved the mountain in two

and one native man singlehandedly began a revolution

where death is more colorful than life

roosters crow all day long

and a statue dominates all –

even the planetary satellite

arcing across the sky –

I will be on the lookout

for the strings that pull

hand over hand

the fire-red Hunter’s moon

millimeter by millimeter across tonight’s sky

tomorrow will wake at moonset

to glimpse the moment

when a celestial body

pays tribute

at the feet

of the hero.