DIA DE LOS MUERTITOS EN SAN PEDRO: REMEMBERING LUZ AND THE DAY HIS LIGHT WENT OUT

Luz

Duermete mi Niño, Duermeteme ya...(Mexican lullaby)

He was only 13 – in 1970 –

And six days past Mother's Day

Some 55 years ago,

When his mom and father were persuaded

To join the migrant stream

And dared themselves to dream

It had taken weeks for Luz's mother to be convinced

That her husband, with his gimpy knee,

Could not advance in poorly paid

South Texas fields

And she reluctantly, gave in, agreed

And the five of them, mom and dad, Luz and two sibs

jumped in their truck with their bare needs

To the first stop in Nebraska, Scottsbluff

To hoe and thin and –  a month later -  weed sugar beets

Luz was his brothers' keeper, como el mayor

And the light of his mother's eye

And lived up Military, where Cemetery Road

And the ditches meet

By Cavazos, en

San Pete

On the way north, by Lubbock,

Lost and separated from the migrants' caravan,

The red dirt swelled and swirling

Like a darkened, bloody worm

 Devoured the sun

Turning the dream into a nightmare

Luz a oscuridad

Sunshine to darkness

Under a gas station canopy...

The tornado hit, and he was gone

Luz, the light of his mother's eyes,

Was the only one that day who died 

Y ahora duerme

A block from the home where he was born 

In a paupers cemetery 

Nestled in San Pedro's arms

Duérmete, mi niño,

duérmete, mi sol,

duérmete pedazo

de mi corazón.