Hidalgo’s Vendadora

A Legend of the Lanzón in Unrhymed Dionas ^#

Carnal land
You must be redefined…
Mystical land
I unclose the years
Of your unyielding quiet…
—Rio Alma

1
In the late Makiling light
She treads softly from the slopes
Of the goddess’s orchard.

“Take from my brimming basket
The cool, sweet juice of the hills,”
She asks the two men she meets

On the brown path fresh with rain.
The air was fragrant, newly
Washed, the two men stare at her.

One is a priest, the other
A painter. Each must have a taste
From the bunches quite heavy

On the round shallow basket
Sitting on her head. She curtsies
To put down her tray of gold.

Pale as the sunrise behind
The mountain, the yellow skin
Enwrapped the soft pearl within.

“Take,” she said, peeling the one
And then the other, which she
Smiling handed to either.

2
The friar then raised his hand
And blessed the fruits, for they were
God’s, he said, the rain’s sweetness

Risen from roots, guided by Him
Through stem and leaf and bud and
Flowering: translucent pearls!

And then he bit and chewed and spat
The bitter pit, “Accursed dew,
It’s the Devil’s nectar, phew!”

Flinging the fruit aside, he said
“What good, indeed, could ever
Come from this forsaken land!”

In a tempest, the friar stomped
Like a child, and she, saddened,
Watched him vanish down the path.

3
The painter took his pearl and
Looked at the girl for guidance.
“Part the sections tenderly

Like you would a garlic’s cloves,
Then eat but avoid the seeds,
For you’ve seen the friar’s fate.”

But the painter bit into
The bitterness that now filled
His mouth. Still he kept his peace,

Held his tongue and did not spit
The bitter pit, but took it
In his hand and kept it there.

Again he ate the half-moon
Part without the seed, and his
Face was filled with rare delight.

4
“Maria of the cloudy slopes,
My mistress, sent you this.
Sometimes you will have to taste

The bitter sap, the better
Way to find the sweetness, her
Only way to touch your heart,

Whatever faith or purpose
Takes you through the world. But you,
You understand beauty more—

All its turns, like life, of which
The bitter sap is part; like light
Whose color is shadow too!

Come then, and with your wiser
Eyes, bless my land, make it shine
In the colors of your art.”