 a manno from the branches that would fall branches around this river. You know, where La Mero Mero downtown is now, he said the water made the wood more suavecita, que la curaba. And where they put that, ¿Cómo le pusieron que? Oh, sí, taricas eso, eso. That's where her mother would pluck chickens and a little further down the river, where all those expensive restaurants are now, that's where she'd play or just sit alone hearing the trees and feeling the wet earth of its edges on her toes. And then when she grew up, se casó con un indio and they built their little house right there where all ten of the kids were born and one was my gramo, the one who died so young right by the river. All along while the shooting was going on and her little daughter was playing. My gramo, you know, choose to wash her clothes in the San Antonio river all the time, close to where they put that new hotel. ¿Cómo le pusieron el ton, algo así? Ese, sí, el ton. They put it all up in a week and no te acuerdas. Ya estaba built. They just brought in the little rooms and stacked them like blocks, like juguetitos. They still look like little toys. No, you can hardly see the sun from there anymore. Her clothes would have never dried on the rocks con esa sombra grandota. No matter. Those fancy tourists walk they know, but they put their pretty perfumes on and they walk where my gramo washed out the sweat and the dirt from her clothes. The sad thing is they don't even smell it. But the part near the river, they took that from us and then the rest too. Riverfront property, ¿quién sabe qué? They took it all. I've been here too long. The color of this dirt is my color. And I own it. I own it from the sweating and from the paying bills and from the paying rent and from all the tears that go into it over the years. You don't see much here now, a few weeds and a little bit of shade, but there's a lot here anyway from the other siglos too, you know? Especially down in the riverbed, maybe still a ladle or two that my tatarauelo throw away and some arrowheads or pebbles from my visabuelo and the stuff that don't show the blood and the afterbirth, the sweat, the lagrimas, the stuff that gives power. See, I'm from San Antonio or maybe San Antonio, it's from me. Like these little babies here under this stone and the other stone over there that was my mother and the one that was my abuelo. Hi, so many stones, so many bodies, so many. You know, I come here and I hear them. I don't hear them everywhere, but here I have like good, almost a second TV reception. Good reception, you can hear them. I hear them all the time, especially my mother and my great grandma and her indio querido and maybe even his grandparents. I hear them singing, talking from the centuries before it was even called San Antonio, before it was even called Yanawana, I hear them all along this river and all from this dirt. I know they got rich people with papers, with houses, with deeds, authority. That's okay. It goes into the papers, the houses. It goes into the same dirt after a while because they owe me rent because I own this place and nobody got to take it away. It's ours, Mija. Don't you remember how I always told you that? When you were cheeky-titty, that's it, and I'd rock you in my arms, that's it, and I'd show you everything that was yours, that's it. Your eyes are wet now, Mija. Ahora sí me reconociste. The sun makes it hard to see sometimes and this last month has been very heavy for you. But take this dirt, take all of it. It will give you fuerza from everything that's in it and everyone. It's ours because we're in it with our dreams and with our deaths and with everything that grows from it. This dirt is full of us. We are made of it and it is made of us and we own it. Is a young Yanawan all spirit, strength, and spark her skin a cinnamon summer an autumn pecan her eyes bright stars in October's dark sky arms graceful as weeping willow branches but when she unravels her hair that long dark wave of a river winding winding right through our hearts pouring right through our dreams that's when she sings in the forgotten rhythms of her native tongue unconquered tunes twirled like Mesquite Park gnarled like the centuries of river oak San Antonio is a young strong Yanawana woman who learned Spanish and then English and then Tex-Mex Where do we see you San Antonio? How do we find you? Y por la calle San Luis West side corn tortillas for a penny each made by an ancient woman and her mother cooked on the home black of a flat stove flipped to slap the birth the wake wrapped by corn hands toasted morning light and dancing history Earth gives birth to corn gives birth to man gives birth to earth corn tortillas, penny each no tax and they came they came to meet you San Antonio they came to become a part of you flowing in from all directions and all origins falling in love with the cool of this rippling stream with this quiet place under the trees with the very heart of you the San Antonio River This river here this river here is full of me and mine this river here is full of you and yours right here or maybe a little farther down my great grandmother washed the dirt out of her family's clothes soaking them scrubbing them bringing them up clean right here or maybe a little farther down my grandpa washed the sins out of his congregations souls baptizing them scrubbing them bringing them up clean right here or maybe a little farther down my great great grandma froze with fear as she glimpsed between the lean dark trees a lean dark Indian peering at her she ran home screaming I loose the indios I get in loose the indios as he threw pebbles at her laughing till one day she got mad and stayed and threw pebbles right back at him after they got married they built their house right here or maybe a little farther down right here my father gathered mesquite beans and wild berries working with the passion during the depression his eager sweat poured off and mixed so easily with the water of this river here right here my mother cried in silence so far from her home sitting with her one brown suitcase a traveled trunk packed full with blessings and rolling tears of lowliness and longing which mixed again so easily with the currents of this river here right here we pour out picnics and childhood's blood from dirty scrapes on dirty knees and every generation's first hand stories of the weeping lady la yorona haunting the river every night crying I'm easy it happened right here the fear dripped off our skin and the blood dripped off our scrapes and they mixed with the river water right here right here the stories and the stillness of those gone before us haunt us still now grown our scrapes in different places the voices of those now dead quieter but not too far away right here we were married you and I and the music filled the air and dipped in mixed in with the river water dirt and sins fear and anger sweat and tears love and music, blood and memories it was right here and right here we stand washing clean our memories baptizing our hearts gathering past and present dancing to the flow right here or maybe a little father down but did they understand you san antonio did they see all of who you were the depths the full rainbow's range of potential the centuries that made you who you were strong and brilliant hard working and filled with compassion and grace you may be ready must come in whose come antonio they called you lazy they saw your silence subtle screaming eyes and called you lazy they saw your lean bronzed workmaids arms and called you lazy they saw your century secret sweet night song and called you lazy san antonio they saw your sky birth and sun altar your corn dirt soul and mute bell toll your river ripple heart soft with life your ancient shawl of sigh on strife and didn't see san antonio they called you lazy antonio was an old make head a shock for sure to come upon while trooping through the thickest jungle the head immense and nothing else around planet all its own with no universe to hold it the lips are thick and parted pregnant with the words you do not want to hear the ears are perfect and the nose a mystery clearly part of any race the eyes are worst of all they see and yet they have no color no joy no century your lungs stop breathing here your heart still born stiff captured by these blind eyes your ears deafened by words immense from its mute tongue back home scholars argue anthropologists lay down theories Asia, Polynesia, Africa the nose China, Mayan, Bosque shape of the skull I turn my ears away to hear the beating heart still missing the breath of chest so camouflaged the phantom fingertips molding as the alamo is an old make head we focus in on stated details seen right now in this dim jungle light yet we don't see and can't escape all that is so visibly not there so what is there? what do we have here to value? amigos canciones grandmas, traditions culturas, bailes family tia sofia tia sofia but she was the wild one like i like i can kiss but tia sofia sang the blues at l.a. record shop on the west side of downtown across from solo service thursday coupons special she never missed 4 llardas de floripo in cattons por solo 89 cents vieta nomasada you never get that price anywhere else she says to her younger sister and a record shop grows up the walls and flowers and weeds and everything in her green thumb garden but here instead of cilantro and rosas and príncipe dormido it's a hundred odd and only 45s 10 years too late that'll never be sold even after she dies and a dozen hit albums that crawl up the wall smiling coupa, choco young sunny and the sun glows the latin breed flaco Jimenez, tobitores and the royal gestures also little stevie wonder and the supreme she sings to pass the time i found my three of old blue Betty here she also likes levender blue it seems to be her color but bright in a big flowered cotton print from solo serve tia sofia speaks tex max black english mixed in and all the latest slang she's not like my other aunts my other aunts like tia ester always at home making caldo making guiso, making tortillas never left the house except to go to church braided her hair on top of her head and always said todos los gringos se parecen which means all anglos look alike it's what she said and then there was tianita i was teaching smart proper decent all my aunts all in church always in church and sofia said well i played tennessee orney fort at maelia jackson on sunday mornings and she did and sang a long never learning that only singing in church counted she never made it through school either instead of ethnic jokes my family told sofia jokes remember that time at the lake of sofia oh yes sofi come out of the water it's raining no she would answer porque me mojo i'll get wet they were always a little embarrassed by her lack of wisdom and her lack of piety and after she died they didn't know what to say didn't feel quite right i think she's always been a good christian so they praised the way she always said sometimes black sometimes red whatever but she took good care of her face you know she put on color blush and mascara she always took good care of her face and then they couldn't think of anything else nice to say until finally someone said well she never fooled around even though she could have after uncle raymond died when she was still young only 71 a funeral comes every two years in my family now just like the births did 70 to 90 years ago and i remember picture of a young flapper with large eyes it was the asofia between the tears we bump into the coffin by accident and get scared and start laughing it's appropriate it also seems appropriate to sing in a black text mix blue baby for the other aunties they weren't so bad like aunt sara name the aunt sara if you knew what her life was when she was young but she made the best flower tortillas and we forgave her everything for that flower tortillas the asada would jubilate and she would tossing pinches of this and handfuls of that into the bow a mad woman stirring a hurricane flour, salt, baking powder obeying the spell of her fingers she never measures anything grabs the masa with Gusto scandal or no all her life she was hungry for the world big gulp for adventures sprinkled with spices on its meaty platter for deliciously exotic flavors seeping out like juice full of flamboyant style the preacher's daughter feeds her hunger teaching english to frighten foreign students and eager immigrants clutching lessons to their chests learning customs verbs and courtesies at her capable and expressive hands fed adopted them for family evenings in her tiny home 16 year old iranian pilots homesick vietnamese boat people they all vowed to patriotic transformation all glad that mama sara clucked them neatly into her classroom and her kitchen oh come on Friday night she'd say I'll make you vietnamese fried rice Iranian eggplant and flower tortillas the house glows hot with kitchen table faces frightened foreign students eat freshly modeled english words picante sauce with mexican food their heads half bowed honored to learn american culture and how to eat flower tortillas saturday morning another feast a single guest come over come over sovrina my knees visit me I'll make you eggs what you don't like eggs the way I make them you'll like them con quesito tomates cilantro scrambled smooth spread melting over a piece of toast or better yet on a flower tortilla she made the best tortillas in the family the secrets in the heat of the hands el calor de las manos cold hands don't make good tortillas her brown hand wheels dad's navy spoon sturdy it'll never bend under pressure down it digs into the crisco can flower tortillas she announces with glee and as she smooths and spreads the masa into elegantly rounded testales small blossoms of her handy work tapered fingers feed the metamorphosis caress the dough she sings sialito lindo dramatically declaims the lines learned long ago from rhyme of the ancient mariner serves a delicious bit of chisme told her by a friend of a very close friend checks for the heat of the fire slaps on the now open bloom lets it rise free to its full glory the tostadito aroma captures every corner of the room toasted life in rapturing the senses and the soul the warmth of her hands the heat of her life everything thrown in all together unmeasured unlimited oh this is san antonio too but there's more to san anto that meets the eye more cultures more languages more peoples more internal strength even more history than we would ever guess good evening and this is the news from a nto san anton vision archeologists working at the site of san antonio missions discovered the ruins of the original mission san wan have discovered instead of remnants of the communal building indicating dwellings of residents sum of two to three thousand years ago right here in san antonio further research is necessary to determine the size of the village what holes do we have all together then hope love a belief that life is more than just the streets and the dollar signs around us that dergo determination to keep on working sweating trying laughing even though we still have to pay the rent that beautiful determination to survive to take the bus to apply for the job to feed the children to make it through just this one meal just this one day just this one child to light the candles still filled with hope our votive one day candles last well beyond twilight stubborn miracles on this inherited dark wool sarape stripes of life's most painful hopeful colors these tiny lights make loans of faith to midnight's darkest storms my people lean on a chance live on a hope prey in a fragile flicker of stolen candlelight esperanza seeds tin milagro wings all bow to possible milagros living in the future fragile flames soft speak the power of things too real too strong too deep to be simply seen did you ever keep us alive how did we survive this is how I fed you this is how I feed you now I have slipped chile under your skin secretly wrapped in each enchilada hot and soothing carefully cut into bitefuls for you as a toddler and increasing in power and intensity as you grow until it could burn forever silently spiced into the rice soaked into the bean caldo smoothed into the avocado I have slipped chile under your skin drop by fiery drop until it ignited the sun altar fire in your blood I have squeezed cilantro into the breast milk made sure you were nurtured with the clean taste of corn stalks with the wildness of thick leaves of untamed monte of unscheduled growth I have ground the earth of these americas in my molcajete until it became a fine and frequent spice sprinkled it surely into each spoonful of food that would have to expand to fit your soul mijo, mija dear son dear daughter this is your herencia this is what is yours this is what your mother fed you to keep you alive this is the beauty of San Antonio of all its peoples and languages of all its hopes and dreams this multicolored heritage warm and rich as a sarape add a little something extra we have to add a little love we have to tell a love sonnet in San Antonio language in our native language here Tex-Mex we have to put in our local icons and I'm going to read to you in case you ever wondered what to say to your Chicano lover of 25 years you feel better than the dango pyramids honey you get me higher than the top stone of the pyramid of the sun you taste as sweet and spicy as mole handpicked fresh from the mercado made from ingredients secret grown in wild gardens your color is as rich as masa para tamales your own pull of your latidos is as strong as un tecito from potent hierbas only curanderas no your touch has more magic than that star dance night 25 years ago and your shoulders dance me a cumbia polka in a slow sense drunk bolero all in one you sana sana colita de rana my corazon your eye ignites the luminarias of my soul and I will rise rise like hot tortillas on a comal by your side forever yes the edges of the volcano may now be rough and cold with scars of rock jagged by fire's distant memory el popo's shape has changed anista's peaks eroded yet deep within the core the rumbling is still strong and the hot liquid lava still flows ready as passionate as ever san antonio san antonio who are you san antonio san antonio is a young yanawana woman all spirits strength and spark her skin a cinnamon summer on autumn pecan her eyes bright stars in october's dark sky arms graceful as weeping willow branches but when she unravels her hair that long dark wave of a river winding winding right through our hearts pouring right through our dreams that's when she sings in the forgotten rhythms of her native tongue unconquered tunes twirled like mesquite bark gnarled like the centuries of river oak waving like the gentleness of buffalo grass like the wildness of wind a melody trickling cool as river water san antonio is a young, strong yanawana woman who learned spanish and then english and then texmex or german, vietnamese czech, greek, korean and a hundred other flowing tongues to lull the child to sleep san antonio is a young, strong smart yanawana woman who sings chants calls declaims exalts in all the languages of her reboso bordado con colores y culturas but never once forgets the hum and the rumble of her still growing reaching river roots thank you san antonio amoe Flores and Lindsay Adams on the dance floor asinto quevara and Ramon and me Garmenta Pollo