Sunday Morning In La Paz

Scattering angels sing in the plaza

Birds herald Sunday in song

A scattering of torn papers

From Saturday night’s bash

Drift throughout the park

A scattering of thought

While seated on a bench

In the morning shade.

Long shadows of churches and trees

Streak across my face.

Scattering angels glide a prayer

Across my face into my palms

In the Oneness that all is known

            By God

We seat ourselves along the beach

            To share being of the same fold

We wash and fold our clothes

            In the same Oneness

Awkwardly aware

            That all belongs to Him

            13 de abril, 1986, La Paz, BCS

Morning in Loreto

A spray of sun pries

Through the window glass at dawn.

Yellow shouts of day.

Soft words press their turn

To pass our lips to the air.

Forming morning prayer

How did the dawn sound

Before the din of motors

Destroyed the sunrise?

                   C.S. Cholas

                   April 11, 1985

                   Loreto, Baja California Sur

A Sociologist’s Field Study

Aunt Laura’s Place

                        How big is Murdo?

                           Well…it’s

                                    about two rooms and a bath across

                                    wall-to-wall carpet, chicken and dumplings

                                    on Saturday night;

                                    about a little bit of a spring day drive

                                    from Rosebud and the Sioux;

                                    about ten years out of teaching

                                    and ten years into stockpiling hotels,

                                    motels and sleeping rooms;

                                    about twelve dollars for the night;

                                    about a little more if you use the single bed

                                    in the tiny front room;

                                   

                                    about that nice Oregon girl coming for the summer

                                    who’s a lot of fun;

                                    about selling roasting ears and saving

                                    for a hair-cut in depression years,

                                    and not moving much beyond Draper, White River

                                    or Wall;

                                                                        and, well…

                        How big is Murdo, Aunt Laura?

                        It’s bigger in summer and colder in fall

                                    and that’s all we know.

                                                                                    C. S. Cholas

                                                                                    Passing through Murdo, South Dakota

                                                                                    Spring of 1975, Sociology Field Study