this was the place
the nurses put her
away from her body clogging
the hospital entrance and
where she waited, facing that wall,
away from the people
that looked at her
with their eyes
stuck on back of their skulls.

She cried and cleaned
her tears with her own long hair
full of oil and dirt.
her face looked up once
in a while to moan at God
and then down again to resist
her five month dead fetus from
eating away vigorously
her uterus and
her still living organs.

The fetus turned into rock
As the children ran around her
With recently bought paletas
As people talked in cell phones
As people laughed
And the Mexican flag
Waved back.

She was thrown outside
because they had no medicine for her
because she had no money
porque sin dinero los perros no bailan

because I do not have money right now
because she is from Veracruz
because she looks like a pata rajada
because I just passed by and did not see her
because she should of thought of it before.

She sang to her baby
in a light whisper
that the air and dust
took away without permission.
she felt the pull of
the earth and
she gave in
and soaked herself
with its bronze color
and rooted her legs,
and gave her hand
to death.

The rays cooked her body
into a perfect monument
that shined at people
as they passed by.
They stopped to look
to let their kids climb her
to take pictures
to draw her
to claim her
to name her Santa entre las Enbarazadas
to touch her for good luck
to put candles
and roses on her swollen feet
to turn her around
away from that dirty wall
she had not stop looking.

And she did not move when her
own people combed her hair and
clothed her with stars and
a silk gown and
when the sculptor came
she stood still while
he digged deep into her face
to carve her a smile.