PICNIC ON THE RIO GRANDE

She kept talking about it
and each time
her mouth, as she spoke,
opened too wide as though the horror
would break through again
in a scream.
She spoke of
	the river, slow and wide, motherly,
	with sun-needles flinging golden
	sparks into the water,
	the children splashing, stomachs full,
	burritos, oranges, ice-cream
	from the man with the cart,
	-the question "Donde esta Lupita?"
          - the question, charred by her burning 
          throat, spreading over the water
	and drifting downstream.
We watched as her eyes saw it
happen again - sand as hot as coals,
Jorge laughing, Esteban digging, orange 
peels bobbing on the water,
A small sandal on a rock.
"Where is Lupita?"
And her mouth opened too wide
and her eyes grew dark
as the river bottom.

		Lucille Murphy