All fall the virgin went from house
to house. A tiny girl led with a tinkling
bell, two champions carried the jewel-bright
shrine in a litter before a small crowd.
When she arrived at this night's stopping place
her hosts applauded. I chanted, "rhubarb, rhubarb
rhubarb," when I didn't know the words,
but I know the rosary and that was most of it.


My eyes strayed to faces, the night gardens
and adobe walls but always came back to the shrine's
open door, shadowed in candle light,
and the hint of brilliance it framed. After the last
amen I was invited with the others
for steaming cinnamon tea and a slice of choyote.

Jenifer McVaugh