(The Peñaloza’s)
What
forebear of my wife’s in wet Huancayo was named Peñaloza?—from which by
Spanish-Peruvian
erosion (perhaps
none?)
Rosa, Augusto’s daughter, from Peñaloza’s in Argentina
A somewhat distinguished name; the vortex of
history
Passed and passed them by. They left their
mark no
doubt,
Hurt him or helped him, whatever the case,
rolled over
His head and he fought back, but entirely
unnoticed;
He lost his lands, little remains.
I should like to meet them,
Their ancient ghosts and drink their
inflaming drinks,
Talk about the Inca nobles and Wanka politics
and the
Damned Chileans; foreigners: I think their
tales of anguish
Would be as odd as ours today, and even more
so
Unrealistic. I’m sure their thinking was as
keen as ours
Perhaps a tinge more unsuspecting.
No doubt, they were all
Christians. Dreaming back into history—that
is,
After the Spanish had to force feed them—God,
Jesus!
And somehow, someway, Peñaloza got
christened—
Which means peace with God. He never found
it,
Let’s hope he finds it without us knowing.
The oldest has been dead now a few centuries,
Moldering in some forgotten Argentinean
graveyard,
among vacant winds and rain-substance.
Deep under ever name, swims the dead, down
the dark
Tides and bloodshot ages of time immersed in
God’s words.
#3356 (5-17-2012)
