Candalario and Socorro played in the waves.

They camped beneath the palms.

They watched the orange-red ball

         set in the west.

In the Plaza de Los Mariachis they were serenaded,

         as they drank their margaritas.

They looked and nibbled their way

         through Mercado Liberdad.

They dreamed and shopped,

         with a  journey to Casa de Las Artesanias.

They ate the food of Jalisco in Tlaquepaque.

Time stood still

          and promised eternity.

And thus is pairing.

A working team is framed.

And work they did.

The house was built.

The crops were planted and tended tenderly;

          they grew,

          and were harvested.

The goats had kids and milk.

The fruits became jam.

From the garden came the chilies and tomatoes,

         for salsa.

Corn became masa and tortillas.

And children blessed the house

         and grew like the corn.

Goat cheese, meat and produce

         went off to market with Candalario.

Socorro worked and waited.

Prosperity made each market trip last longer.

Socorro became the farmer,

         the goat herder and milker.

Waiting was longer,

         the work harder.

Socorro became the only farmer.

And to the children,

          Socorro became father and mother

She toiled alone day and night.

Candalario stayed away too long.

The play in the waves and        

         the songs of the mariachis

         faded and were gone.

And then there was no return.

Sweat glistened on the arms and brow of the smithy.

The coals in the hearth glowed cherry red.

The bellows screamed: "destroy, destroy."

The cherry red turned blue with heat,

         and the bellows sang: "revenge, revenge."

The coals were white with heat,

          and they whispered:" I returned,

          and will have you now!"   

The smithy sent the steel hunk into the angry inferno.

The bellow sang and the coals popped their energy.

The metal turned white with heat.

The smithy's hammer shaped the steel.

Each bang turned the hunk into a useful tool.

Back into the hellish inferno

         for more of the singing bellows and white fire.

Then with a hiss and a sizzle,        

         the steel became a tempered kitchen knife,

        ready for the final polish.

A useful work knife,

         por familia.

Slowly the coals died,        

         and became death white ashes.

They no longer sang of angry revenge.

From their death a fine and useful tool was born.

Destructive intent, creative result.

Doug Minnis

January 22,2009