Return to Tetaroba

        w. the burden of history
Roberto & I travelled deeper into Mexico |
an overnight bus ride from Tucson
through Sonora & into Sinaloa | stopping finally
at El Fuerte the largest city
in the area | & only miles away from Tetaroba
el rancho | we took a taxi
from el Fuerte to Tetaroba
        see my father Roberto is second-generation Mexican American
I’m two-point-five | I mean | my mother Anna was one-point-five
born in Sonora, Mexico | migrated to the United States
when she was a child | formative years of her life
were in Mexico | but she came of age in the USA
one foot in each nation | more so than my father & me
I calculate my generation by adding the two generations |
don’t question my calculus | a unitedstatesian
is a complicated geometry
        Roberto’s father | my abuelo Francisco | emigrated
during the Mexican Revolution from the northern state
of Sinaloa, first to Sonora then to Arizona | along the railroad
w the lure of hot copper | yes rapid economic development
in the mining & railroad industries in the U.S. southwest
saw the greatest increases in the Mexican immigrant population
Arizona’s two major industries railroad transportation & copper mining
used discriminatory dual-wage systems to pay
Mexicans less regardless of their citizenship status |
this was not a casual racism | & yes hot copper lured Francisco
to the north | as he escaped revolution
his reasoning | either die from federal troops or die joining
the revolution | instead he chose migration & life
a hard life in Arizona | where he was hated for simply being
| yes | Arizona | it’s a dry heat | a dry hate
        Roberto & I found the cemetery first | the panteón |
my father had been researching genealogy
& he wanted to confirm speculations about dates
& why my abuelo Francisco abandoned his family in Sinaloa
perhaps abandon is too strong a term
why he migrated & never returned
whatever the word for that is | that’s what he did
we confirmed that many Alvarezes still live in Tetaroba
in fact | los Alvarez have their own section
in the panteón | a couple strolling the cemetery
after leaving fresh flowers | stopped to chat w. us
friends of our family we learned
& they gave us directions to where
we cd learn more about ourselves
also showed us around the panteón | & we experienced
ceremony | not abandonment | but lived lives
that stretched transnationally & returned to earth |
earth more amazingly red than I had ever known
        light that day | bright | & the air hot | & meeting bones
of those I would never know en the panteón
speaking Sinaloan Spanish | which has always
been the accent I’ve understood most
despite hearing it least in my life
        our guides sd for día de los muertos
the panteón breathed generations
sufficient to celebrate | & here
stop here they sd you know this name
you know her name | you know her name
father you know her name | say her name |
        say Rosario
Rosario
Rosario | la primera esposa de mi abuelo
Rosario who waited for Francisco to never return
Rosario who never married again
Rosario who was not my grandmother
Rosario grandmother to the vibrant Alvarez of Sinaloa
Rosario whose name los Alvarez in Arizona never knew
Rosario whom Francisco abandanó | yes abandoned
Rosario who knew of Francisco’s second wife in Arizona & two children from her
Rosario who knew of that wife’s death during her third childbirth & later of Francisco’s
        third wife in Arizona & three more children
Rosario knew of these final three children but never knew their names
Rosario never knew my father | the oldest child of this third family
        never his name | nor mine | nor cared I suspect
        & we walked further into the pueblo proper
the deposito | where the gente buy beer
in Tetaroba | owned by los Alvarez
claro que si I was proud | & here I met
the history of my father’s family
& half of who I am
w. icecold chelas loosening the Spanish
of my humid unitedstatesian tongue
el sr Nalo López spoke of the history
of Tetaroba & indeed he remembered
                      Francisco
& he knew the lives
lived in crumbling homes of those
who went al norte
sd he saw nopales growing
from my father’s forehead
& from mine mesquites
w. roots that dig deep into deserts
that defy borders
        abandoned homes preserved
in what stood as memories of people
who inhabited the spaces | Tetaroba |
Tetaroba | Sinaloa
        touch these red adobe walls my primos sd
waking me from my daze
touch these adobe walls
they were the same your grandfather felt
you feel the heat | they breathe hot
        indeed sr Nalo knew of Francisco’s
home | what was left of his home
sígueme he sd | follow me
we must walk | roads unpaved lined
w. stones & dust | so much dust
| polvo | of airborne bones &
saguaro ancestors watching us
their shadows trailing us |
as sr Nalo led us past a dried
creek & just over a small hill
& there | a house w. no doors
& there attached to this home
the red walls of another | walls covered
in hot black plastic| secured w. rope
there | the walls of Francisco’s home
what was left of Francisco’s home
now a storage space for another family’s home
        aquí el vivió | sr Nalo sd | he lived here |
Rosario after decades of waiting | left this home
& lived w. her children when Francisco never
returned | & yes here | the fruits of Francisco’s third
family in the USA| found ourselves here | frente a frente | w. echoes
of the faces of Francisco’s children from his first family | closer to the center
of el rancho Tetaroba | how los Alvarez
of Arizona dwindled to less people
over one hundred years &
how los Alvarez in Tetaroba
increased & lived in all parts of Mexico
& these walls of Francisco’s old house
crumbling to earth | red red earth |
        touch these walls sr Nalo sd | touch the walls
of yr abuelo’s home | yes | de color colorado
they were the same yr grandfather felt
you feel the heat | they breathe hot
touch these walls | paredes en la frente y la mente
they were the same yr grandfather felt
you feel the heat | they breathe hot
I pocketed a piece of this wall
& later when drunk | way drunk after
getting to know mis primos better
over more chelas | I stumbled into the hotel
hot tears in my eyes | dad I sd |
I kept this for you | for all of us
but always for you to keep him
& to remember | always remember
        what he did | to her
        earlier when hiking back from the adobe
walls | climbing down the drainage of red
rock | sweet minted plants |
Robert | my father | father of five
all born in Arizona | Robert
stops to catch his breath then rips
bamboo from the root | clouded
red dust clumps dropping |
this is where he was born
& now we know why | now
we know why & now we can see why