Woodstove of My Childhood

woodstove of my childhood where potatoes cut like triangle chips were fried in manteca de marrano woodstove of lazy autumn smoke swirling away to nowhere woodstove of December evacuating the cold chill at sunrise woodstove of celebration and mourning of post-World War II Korea y Vietnam woodstove corner that kept vigil over drunken nodding remembrance woodstove corner where uncles primos compadres gathered on visits from Califas woodstove corner with a warm ear for nostalgia where Mama Ane stirred the atole and wrung her hands thumb over thumb praying for her children's children's children woodstove that witnessed six decades washing its face at the vandeja that saw western swing dancing in dim lantern flame that watched Elvis come in from across the llano strumming a mail-order Stella and singing in Spanish woodstove of the feast lamb tied up under the crabapple tree of early sour cherries ripening above the cornstalk horizon of neighbors bartering a cup of sugar in exchange for mitote and conversation woodstove of rain tenderly pouring into the afternoon and salt sprinkling onto the patio from the mouth of the porch woodstove of the nighttime crackling softly of harmonious harmonica medleys blowing before bedtime prayer woodstove facing John F. Kennedy's picture on the wall woodstove of Protestant Sundays ringing without bells woodstove of dark earth fat worms and acequias woodstove of 1960s propaganda and all the rich hippies knocking poorly at the screen door woodstove of private crazy laughter of woodpeckers pecking through rough-hewn barn timbers only to meet the sky of rabbits nervously nibbling evening away in the arroyo of the water bucket banging and splashing all the way home woodstove of the water drop sizzle of buñuelos and biscochitos and flour on the chin of chokecherry jam dropping out from the end of a tortilla woodstove that heard Mentorcito's violin bringing in the new year that saw Tío Eliseo bring in an armload of wood that heard Tío Antonio coming down the road whistling a corrido and swinging his cane woodstove of the blessed noontime and Grandma Juanita heating up the caldito woodstove of the sanctified and untamed holy spirit of the dream awake dreamers prophesizing in the beginning how the end would come of creaking trochil gates left open forever of twisted caved-in gallineros rocking in weeping April wind of abandoned orchards waist deep in desánimo of teardrops that held back the laughter of the penitente procession moving through the hills for the soul of the village woodstove of the wounded faithful proudly concealing their scars woodstove of armpit farts and bedtime giggles of pitchforks and axes under the bed in case of intruders of coffee cans filled with everything but coffee of ten cents for a cream soda at Corrina's of strawberry Nehis and a bag of chili chips at Medina's of a handful of bubble gum acá Santos's woodstove of genius wisdom dressed up as the village idiot of hand-me-down stories locked away in the dispensa of bien loco local heroes cracking homeruns Saturday afternoons en la cañada woodstove of all that and more of all that disappearing as children played hide 'n' seek in that abandoned goodtime feeling while stumbling on the footsteps of tradition woodstove that heard the fall of a people rising in silence that died of a loneliness without cure that cured itself in the company of the so many more lonely woodstove of my childhood