There are Mexicans in These Hills

When I was nine I promised my father
I’d write of his grandfather,
of Old Mexico and El Rio Grande.
I’d write of guitarras and banditos,
of canciones and corazones.
The story is still unwritten.
It lies like a half-eaten banana
on a restaurant table, waiting
for me to pick it up and finish.
While my poetry, born in these hills,
is forever flavored
with Mexican spices.

Author: Darlene Franklin-Campbell

I am a poet, novelist and artist living in the Appalachian Foothills. I believe we are great spiritual beings on a journey through this physical realm. We are timeless entities stepped into time.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s