Casa Encantada Daydream
by Karla Linn Merrifield
I take a seat by the grinding stone,
broken, worn, leaning
against adobe wall facing the fading
clump of orange poppies,
its corn stories five hundred years old:
I hear limestone tales
of maize-thieving conquistadors
full of famine and disease.
Or are they granite epics
still being chanted
of Puebloan survival
in these mountains, this desert,
Stone That Grinds the golden kernels,
sacred grain of El Dorado?