Pedro Santos has lost everything. He lost his freedom when he was sent to prison, lost his wife, his kids. Pedro lost his mother, who died while he was locked up, without ever getting a chance to say goodbye. Ultimately, Pedro even lost his faith. That doesn’t stop his mother’s followers from turning to him for help once he gets out. Pedro’s mother, Paloma, was a powerful Santeria priestess, dedicating herself to using the mystical mesh of Catholicism and African Yoruba religion that rose out of slavery to aid anyone who came to her. Pedro wants to help, but can’t understand why anyone would look to a faithless loser, like him. Yet, all they see is El Milagrito, the “little miracle” that beat death twice by the time he was nine, and must therefore be destined to be a healer. If only he could heal himself...
In my novel, Chango Crying, we meet Pedro as he’s released after four years of incarceration near Baltimore for selling cocaine to help support his own young children after his wife abandoned their family to try to make it as a stripper in New York. Having nowhere else to go, Pedro returns to his mother’s tiny apartment in Hoboken, New Jersey. When people hear that El Milagrito has come home, they flock to Pedro. Despite no longer believing in the magic promised by Santeria and its rituals, he is obligated to help. Paloma only had two rules: turn no one away, and ask nothing in return. Saying no would dishonor his mom’s memory.
It’s not long before Pedro finds himself in way over his head. A desperate Manhattan socialite turns to him for help in finding her son, who disappeared in Mexico during Spring Break. Reluctantly, Pedro fulfills his obligation to 'turn no one away' and risks his newfound freedom by leaving the country while on probation. Pedro is able to track the socialite’s son to a pair of brujos, evil Santeria practitioners who sacrifice humans in dark, brutal rituals designed to protect a powerful Mexican drug cartel, and is soon caught in the midst of a violent drug war. He suspects the socialite’s son is already dead. Once the brujos discover his presence, Pedro needs to find his faith, fast, just to stay alive. Otherwise, he's going to need another miracle.
Bloom
My Love,
my Moon,
my Muse,
my wide Night Sky,
my sweet lotus flower—
O, sit ol' lotus,
perched upon your pad,
sit & stay with me
a while.
I want to watch
you bloom, under
the rays of the moon, watch
each precious petal
spreading itself
to embrace the Universe.
I cannot bear
to watch you
hide inside yourself,
within walls
you would build
to block out
the very light
that makes you shine.
So be wise
my sweet lotus,
as you wander to ponds
old & new—
your head wants left alone
while your heart wants to roam,
but your spirit will carry you
home.
My latest Moon poem, composed a couple of days after last week's partially eclipsed Blood Moon...
Blood Moon
My moon bleeds tonight,
not from harm,
but because nothing can stay
Full, forever; everything
must empty
lest it burst.
My moon bleeds tonight,
& I worship her
as I always do,
more so, knowing
tonight we dance
in shadows
so thin,
only I can see—
She feels
the sliver,
like black
thread dragged
across her body,
a taste of the wane
that is coming.
My moon bleeds tonight,
& She will draw me
to her & I will slide
inside & together
We release—release
the world around us
for the Universe
about Us,
release the heart
& the mind
for the spirit
We have been
neglecting,
release resentment
for Love.
My moon bleeds
for me tonight.
¿Will she bleed
for me, again?
Only Destiny
has that answer.
I only know
the moon
must bleed,
as must I,
as must we all.
Executing Traitors
Easter Sunday—San Miguel morning
watching locals exploding Judases
near the square. The air is thick
with brimstone & black
powder, and the joyous shouts
of children as the newest Judas
detonates. The children run about
in squealing glee, snatching limbs
from the sky—the biggest purse
the traitor's head, of course.
A young brown boy glows
as the gueros encourage him to pose
for them—head held aloft
or playfully placed
in front of his own face—
as if he understands that we
are all capable of betrayal.
& then the whizzing
starts anew, and attention
shifts to the newest Judas
spinning for his sins—ready
to be obliterated in all his
papier-mâché guts
& ingloriousness.
