First: you must understand
that women who kill
their children have horselike
eyes. And so, when La Llorona wanders,
caterwauling and searching for her dead
children, she wears a horse head
atop her shoulders.
¡Mis hijos, mis hijos!
¿Dónde están mis hijos?
There is no sadness deeper
than in the eyes of a horse.
If you come upon her beneath
the skeletal hands of trees,
she will lift her eyes to you, large
and liquid black––you will realize
that if any eyes could wail,
it would be these.
¿Ha visto usted mis hijos?
Mi corazón, mi corazón nade.
Her voice noses your ear
the way a horse would, the way death
will, when it finds you, soon or
much sooner. And she will lead you
to the river, weeping
a lullaby, and put you tenderly
to bed.
Mi corazón nade; nada,
mi corazón, mi corazón, nada.
Though she’ll hold your head
down in the charging water—
though your last sight
will be the riverbed silt
stinging your eyes—
it will hurt her much longer
than it will you, as she
continues to wander.
¿Dónde está mi corazón?
Mi corazón nade en sangre.