top of page

Macuahuitl

by Alex Flores

an_aztec_sculptor_2005.107.1.jpg

Charged with the task

Of watching the waters, I gazed

At the swirling life, of the snakes

Swimming in the great lake.  The reflection

Of the eagle overhead.  Of the fish who call

The waters as their home.

 

A strand, a single hair, falls from my shoulders

And touches the lake.  I pull it out, but far too late.

The water is disturbed, and all my pale hair has become dark

As obsidian.

 

I find a headwrap that El Don uses, and I cover my head.

When he arrives, he sees my head wrapped.

“That isn’t your headpiece.  Remove it.”

Don Alarcón knows why I’m covered, and isn’t surprised

By the ebon-dark hair.  His look of disappointment

As vibrant as obsidian.

 

“You let the waters be disturbed.  I can’t let you stay here.

You must make your own way”

He unwraps his own head cover, cascades of obsidian

Falling from his shoulders.

“But there are many of us out in the world. 

Should you need me, simply remember

That your hair is like mine, and you will be home.”

About the Author

Alex Flores was born and raised in Fresno, California, where he attended CSU Fresno and earned a Bachelor's degree in their English department. While in Fresno, he spent time with several local poets who also called Fresno home. Currently, Alex is attending Claremont Graduate University, where he is working on a Master's degree in English. In his spare time, he pursues cooking and mixology; getting pretty good at making party mocktails.

bottom of page