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La Muerte de la Vieja
There were four old women as old as she
Who knelt in the room where the sick one lay,
And the resador with his book of prayers
Who sat by her side all night to pray.
In the morning light her face was grey
As the ash that covered the embers still,
The black-shawled women had never stirred
And the old man's voice was hoarse and shrill.
The crucifix laid on her heaving breast
Moved with her harsh breath up and down,
And her mouth like a chicken's gaped for air
With a noise that the droning could not drown.
The sunlight poured through the open door
Where I stood and wondered how it could be
That the old, old woman with such great strength
Fought with the force we could not see.