At last night at Chuckanut Sandstone’s open mic, Sandra F. Lucke shared the work of poet Alberto Rios. Carla, the group leader, read his poem “Refugio’s Hair” and the world shook!
This wonderful poet makes his home in Sedona, AZ. Ríos is a Regents’ Professor at Arizona State University, where he has taught for over 30 years and where he holds the further distinction of the Katharine C. Turner Endowed Chair in English.
With lines like “Carlos whose soul had the edge of a knife” it’s no wonder Alberto has won so many awards!
Had to share this poem with you today. Get ready, here it comes!
This wonderful poet makes his home in Sedona, AZ. Ríos is a Regents’ Professor at Arizona State University, where he has taught for over 30 years and where he holds the further distinction of the Katharine C. Turner Endowed Chair in English.
With lines like “Carlos whose soul had the edge of a knife” it’s no wonder Alberto has won so many awards!
Had to share this poem with you today. Get ready, here it comes!
Refugio’s Hair
In the old days of our family,
My grandmother was a young woman
Whose hair was as long as the river.
She lived with her sisters on the ranch
La Calera– The Land of the Lime–
And her days were happy.
But her uncle Carols lived there too,
Carlos whose soul had the edge of a knife.
One day, to teach her to ride a horse,
He made her climb on the fastest one,
Bareback, and sit there
As he held its long face in his arms.
And then he did the unspeakable deed
For which he would always be remembered:
He called for the handsome baby Pirrin
And he placed the child in her arms.
With that picture of a Madonna on horseback
He slapped the shank of the horse’s rear leg.
The horse did what a horse must,
Racing full toward the bright horizon.
But first he ran under the alamo trees
To rid his back of this unfair weight:
This woman full of tears
And this baby full of love.
When they reached the trees and went under,
Her hair, which had trailed her,
Equal in its magnificence to the tail of the horse,
That hair rose up and flew into the branches
As if it were a thousand arms,
All of them trying to save her.
The horse ran off and left her,
The baby still in her arms,
The two of them hanging from her hair.
The baby looked only at her
And did not cry, so steady was her cradle.
Her sisters came running to save them.
But the hair would not let go.
From its fear it held on and had to be cut,
All of it, from her head.
From that day on, my grandmother
Wore her hair short like a scream,
But it was long like a river in her sleep.
Alberto Rios
shannon p. laws 
whew! quite a poem! thank you for posting.
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