Graciela

Wedding night Graciela bled lightly— But enough to stain his thighs— And left an alphabet Of teeth marks on his arm. At this, he was happy. They drank mescal In bed like the rich And smoked cigarettes. She asleep And the bottle empty, he hid A few coins in her left shoe, Earrings in the right. They worked long hours Hoeing crooked rows of maize. Evenings she wove rugs And embroidered curtains To market in Taxco. In short they lived well. However in the seventh month With child, her belly Rising like a portion of the sun, Something knotted inside her. The ribs ached. A fever climbed. Manuel summoned the Partera And though she burned pepper, And tied belts around The stretched belly, The child did not ease out. Days later she turned Onto her belly And between her legs Unraveled a spine of blood.