San Jerónimo, patron saint of this agnostic translator and
way too concerned with women’s purity if you ask me
and plus, did you really tame that lion
because I find that hard to believe.
Laid out so beautifully, fleeting murals on the ground
of this still-small town in Mexico
ready for the cleansing by trampling
of the devout.
a make-shift monster of pine branches and burlap
boys showing off their strength
as they carry a 2-ton altar to the church
complete with their refrescos on top (offering or just a convenient carrying spot? I can never tell)
That kind of raw but self-conscious masculine energy
has always made me nervous
It’s way scarier to me than the one who cracks the whip
in front of my delightful drunk friend, trying to get a picture in the middle of the procession.
or the day-fireworks, all bark and nothing to look at
My daughter sits inside the café wanting sweets
Other times on her father’s shoulders shouting “¡Mira!”
as this procession we don’t understand
marches and dances by
destroying the beautiful ground murals that
never would have lasted anyway.
Let’s not fear this transition and destruction anymore.