David Lee Summers is the Editor of Tales of the Talisman,

a magazine which publishes science fiction and horror of a very high quality.  He is also an old and valued friend.   You can find him here:

www.davidleesummers.com

The Virgin and the Turtle

           by David Lee Summers

                 First published in The Ink Spot, 2004

My daughter and I trek through the desert,

then up Tortugas Peak.  The mountain looks

like its namesake, a giant turtle buried under

sand and mesquite.  An “A” was painted on

its flank – proclaiming “agriculture,” even

in this barren land.  The organ pipes of the

gods rise silently behind the mighty turtle.

The Iroquois tell of Ataentsic, the Sky Woman

who fell to Earth through the clouds toward the

great sea.  A giant turtle arose and offered his 

back as a landing place, but the shell was too 

slippery.  Frog put sand on the turtle’s back and 

foliage took root.  The virgin, Ataenstsic, held 

on, then gave birth to the human race.

Climbing Tortugas Peak, I wonder if I really 

ascend a giant, hibernating turtle.  Reaching the

top, my daughter and I come upon two shrines.

One is an observatory, built by astronomers to

watch the planet Jupiter.  The other is the terminus

of a pilgrimage that Native Americans make each

year to honor the Virgin of Guadalupe.

According to legend, the Virgin of Guadalupe

appeared to Juan Diego in 1531 outside

Mexico City.  To some, she is an apparition

of the Virgin Mary come to welcome the native

people of the Americas to the Catholic Church.

To others, she is an aspect of the Aztec goddess

Tonantzin.  I wonder if she is really Ataentsic.

My daughter and I sit at the shrine of the Virgin

of Guadalupe eating corn chips and drinking 

water, refreshing ourselves from a hot summer

pilgrimage.  The sacrament we take may not be

the body and blood of Christ, but somehow, I 

think momma Ataentsic would be pleased by

our visit to the summit of a slumbering turtle.

Pan de Muerto

                by David Lee Summers

                     First published in Macabre, 2004

All Soul’s Day – The Day of the Dead – 

Picnics and parties at the cemetery.

Gravestones decorated with flowers,

Pinwheels, photos, favorite toys,

Candies and pan de muerto –

The Bread of the Dead.

My daughter and I make the bread.

She beats the eggs – even in death,

There is the memory of new life.

I add the orange essence – memory

Of the orange trees Grandpa –

My dad – loved so much.

Together, my daughter and I add the 

flour – grown from the soil where 

Grandpa now rests.  Together we

Kneed the dough – making a

Connection across time.

Grandfather to father to daughter.

We set the bread out with a photo,

Some Halloween candy, and many

Happy memories.  Sleep that night is

Restless.  There is a chill in the air.

Morning comes and a chunk is gone

From the Bread of the Dead.

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