A trembling heart honors sacred,secret traditions.
The old shamaness starts burning her candles;
She knows her grandchildren fear her, she knows they call her a witch.
She laughs.
The man in the fancy suit falls down drunk, face first onto the cobblestone streets.
He wears a red tie; he played the marimba today, but his talent soon forgot him
And his addiction soon got him.
The strange young man who comes out once a year spots him, brings him a dish
laden with chiles, laden with beans, and with corn tamales. He speaks to the servant, the
girl who follows him wherever he pleases in a tongue that only they know.
He leaves, she cries. The old shamaness starts drinking her liquor, she calls it her nectar. She cries over the fancy suit drunkard, she chews on her chiles.
The fancy suit drunkard calls to the strange boy, asks him for money.
The young man refuses to part with his silver; he brings him more food and something to drink.
Together they share what only they can, together they share a soft, tender pain.
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