El Coyote Pinto

By Herman Herrera

Standing next to the graves of his ancestors in Coyote, New Mexico,

A man reflects on the years that have passed with the wind blowing and rain coming.

Tears come to his eyes, as he remembers another time, another life.

Yet, the same.

He steps into a world in his mind, a world now gone, but in his thoughts he is still

El Pequeñito—The Little One.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9781662421143

Book preview

Chapter 1

No Somos Nada

We Are But Earth

Que triste suena el doble

How sad the church bell

Rings

In New Mexico tradition, the

Bell at the church rings

From the time the body

Begins its journey to the

Church service before the

Body is put to rest and

It is one-bong—silence bong—

Silence bong—silence bong, till

The casket is at the entry

To the church.

This is my reality, sadness

My little one

Mi pequeñito.

A box a beautiful pink

Casket,

Brought to its final resting

Place, Coyote, the little

Village northeast of

La Mesa del Poleo

Here is the resting place.

The final

Farewell,

Of

Our ancestors

Los Martinez’s, Lujan’s, Archuleta’s

Herrera’s, Serrano’s, Salazar’s Chacones’s:

I hold back

My tears,

As the colorful box is

Opened for the last time at

The exit of the Catholic church

San Juan Bautista

"She looks like she’s going

Dancing,"

My father Alfonso said.

And true, Lujan’s Funeral Home

Had outdone themselves

With the embalming.

Her hair was beautifully combed

Not a strand out

Of place,

Her makeup was properly

Applied, it even gave the

Appearance of a slight smile.

My thoughts

She looked more like a

Sleeping beauty; smiling for me.

The door to the church

Faces the east and the

Sun is shining, just so slightly

On her.

Siempre con los

Pies para el este

Always with your feet towards

The east, grandmother Sorida

Would always say about the

Dead.

Her belief was that the

Creator would come in the

Clouds from the east.

La carroza

As she always called. The

Hearse

Pulled out making its way

To the cemetery where

Her grave had been dug

The day before.

Uncle Fabian had said

Dinamita had to be used

At the start of the digging

Just to break the clayish

Ground

Dinamita

He called it.

The service at the graveside

Was beautiful Mr. Jimmy Lujan Sr.

Spoke of her life in La Mesa

Which brought smiles to our

Hearts

And brought tears to our

Already-swollen eyes when he

Spoke of her life in passing

Grandmother always said

Echale su tierrita

A hand full of earth

As our last goodbyes

A hand full of dirt

To a lifelong, of smiles

Stories and songs

Adiós, Abuela

Goodbye, Grandmother,

May you dance to your

Place in the heavens and

May your stories never be

Forgotten here among the

Living.

Sorida Lujan Martinez

Chapter 2

Va a Llover

It Looks Like Rain

The wind blows softer, and

I kick a dry weed off

My shoe. There’s a sense

Of moisture to the air, the

Clouds are moving in very

Slow, like if they might be

Taking their time.

A deeper look

At the granite stone

The weather and time has

Damaged its original beauty, looking

Around I can see that some

Of the graves are sinking and

Many of the headstones are

Leaning in one direction or another

El abandono

Time forgotten

Grandmother always said never

Forget to clean and visit

The grave of your loved ones

I’m so sorry,

Grandmother

It seems my life has been;

Busy, too busy to come see

You.

Tears fill my eyes, and it

Brings to mind the dreaded

Memory

Of St. Vincent Hospital in Santa Fe

As I walked to her side literally;

Her deathbed

Reality, my little one

Mi pequeñito

She lay there, helpless feet

Facing the west not the east,

Spirit broken, tube after tube

Protruding from her frail body

And connecting to bags of who-

knows-what and some big

Machine that made more noise

Than the wheat grinders at

Pedro Valdes’s yard.

Not much left

Of her now,

Were my thoughts, and as a

Tear slowly made its way

Down my cheek, she opened

Her colorless eyes, the

Lids red and puffy. She

Tried to smile at me, but

I could see her pain, feel

Her demise.

Mira, mi hijito, my little one

Mira cómo me tienen

My little one look how they

Have me.

Her voice was cold, hoarse

Almost none recognizable, her

Front teeth were gone, cheeks

Sunk in, her whole face look

More like a skull, than that

Of a woman who once told

Beautiful stories,

This was the woman who

Could seed the ground all

Day, after Grandfather Antoño’s

Plows

I could almost see her bones

Sickly flesh barely covering them

Her body seemed so small no

Life left. She once danced

Polkas, baked cakes and

Chanted thru the fields

Carrying her patron saint

San Antoño

"Ven, mi hijito"

Come, my little one

She tried to pick up a very

Bruised arm, she could not.

Tried to pick up her head,

Her hair was so gray and

Lifeless, uncombed. This was

The woman who sang hymns

Of prayer out in the fields

And put little flowers on her

Statues of patron saints

This was my Grandmother Sorida.

What was left

Of her!

"Sabes

Mi tiempo se ha llegado

You know, my time has come,

But I’m not afraid, I have

Lived a poor life, but your

Grandfather has been good to

Me, comfort when I need it

And good arguments when

Called for. She smiles,

Looking at her tomb

Stone

I think back to that

Day at the hospital. I believe

I was thinkin’ then, much

What I still feel today;

The Creator; God! If you will!

Makes the soul want to

Leave its sickly body behind.

I believe that separation is called

Agonizar

The painful departure of the

Soul from the body

Through her pain that day at

The hospital she explained a

Few things about love, understanding

Forgiveness.