"El Señor del Terremoto", by Lorena Caputo

EL SEÑOR DEL TERREMOTO

The dusk is a wash
      of indigo sky &
            pale rose clouds

Devotees still climb
      the shell-shaped steps
            into the Cathedral
Past the nuns selling
      café y quimbolitos
Toward the music
            andino & charro
      resonating from the altar

& there on a carved & gilded chair
      sits the Lord of the Earthquake
Three thick gem-studded
      gold rays radiate from
            his curled locks
His right hand clutches
      a tarnished-silver
            leafed branch
The line of people slowly passes
      fingering his blood-red robe
            touching his knees, hands, feet

¡Que viva el Señor del Terremoto!
      shouts the singer
¡Que viva!
      respond these worshippers

& they rush to finger       to touch
      that velvet richly embroidered
            decorated with gold

Then mariachi horns call
      from the altar
            ¡Que viva el Señor del Terremoto!
                  ¡Que viva!

The strains of the final
      song echo down the nave
The heavy doors
      now are being shut
            against the night
& more slip in
      to finger this Lord’s robe
            to touch his hands, his knees
Lights are turned off    last candles lit
            stragglers are ushered out

Then el Señor is carried
      by four men stooped
            under his weight
To be bedded in his
      glass gothic case
To repose on a silver
      & royal-purple throne
Before journeying tomorrow
      to a next town

Outside on the shell-shaped steps
      another band begins to play
            Andean music with timbales & horns
In homage to El Señor
      ¡Que viva!