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Prayer to Tláloc by Pamelyn Casto
In the storms of dryness and drought
we breathe dust, we cough dust.
Our dreams are singed an arid brown
daylight to dusk, from dust to dust,
and even our words are dry and hoarse
in our time of wildfires and spinning dust devils.
You hold back the rain, Tlaloc.
Where is your jaguar growl of thunder?
Where are your fangs of lightning?
Where are your mighty rattles—the sounds
of rain and hail on our withered roofs?
We are drying up and blowing away—
our lakes and ponds are dried mosaics,
scabby sores. Our languid air is parched
and we grow fatigued from our struggle.
Oh Great Tlaloc, seed again our clouds.
Dance once more with Chalchiuhtlicue
in her jade-green, spring-sprouting skirt.
Freshen our faces, our crops, our land—
restore our withered lives with your vital rains.