A Glass of Water

by Jimmy Santiago Baca

  Lorenzo handed Liliana to Carmen and patted his brother’s shoulder. “Let’s get this field done.”

  I’ll never forget how, one night, with my two sons, I went to the river. Near the bank, in front of a cottonwood tree I called my tree. I undressed and danced and fell on the ground squirming and swiveling as if I was mating with the Earth.

  I held the hands of my sons and crouched on the muddy bank and I dipped my hand in the water and wet our faces. I dried us off with my skirt and we laid back and while looking up at the night sky, I suddenly started crying. I yearned for Mexico.

  I am crossing back now, a rare songbird, vanishing into the jungle. A bird without a name, that will appear to you only during certain times of the seasons.