Sanctum By the Mounds.

Outside their home, a father and son sit near a fire, 

surviving the night’s wind. 

Crickets chirp their song under the moonlight 

as the father clears his throat. The fire 

crackles. 

He begins.

In ancient days, when this land we stand

on, belonged to our people, they had a God. 

Of many names. Sun God. Hummingbird 

of the South. God of Sun and War. 

His name is Huitzilopochtli. Our ancestors

believed all bravest warriors came back as

hummingbirds. On the night he was born 

he killed his brother and sister who had planned 

to kill him and his mother. He beheaded his sister 

to make the moon. Ripped his brother to create 

stars. He was named after the Sun because of the fury 

he carried. Thus creating days and nights of him chasing

his brother and sister around the world to keep them in 

check. Our people, for a long time have been able to sense

his presence through the warmth of the Sun. But lately, 

I’ve felt the days become dim. I tell you this because it’s 

said that his resting place was deep in the forest not far from here. 

I want to take you.

*** 

Pass Piney Woods, El Camino Real de Los Tejas, exists the Caddo Mounds. 

The two stand, chins meeting the clouds. They stare before stepping forward.

Their hands grip

walls of moss

floating down

surrounding trees.

Ahead of them, loud cracks

haunt the ground 

that vanishes into a distant

bottom, awaiting humans

to slip right through.

The son’s gulp struggles in his throat

then balloons itself in his belly. 

There’s a change in the son’s demeanor. 

Suddenly, he’s daunted by a transformation

that anticipates him. Afraid he’s leading

his father to danger but more scared 

of never seeking an answer. 

Is it his destiny to be the next huitzilopochtli

or revive and become him, the father wondered. 

The father follows in amazement

as his son finds the sanctum underneath. 

He notices his shoulders and legs tone and expand. 

Each one of his steps sounds heavier. 

The son whispers to himself, I can see everything 

in the dark. 

As they approach this encased sanctum, they find no signs of a burial. 

Instead- the precise tread of their steady feet feel electrified by a presence.

A wave-like circuit flows through the son’s body

so rampantly he passes out. As the father wakes him

his character grows estranged. 

He has been revived.

The spirit of Huitzilopochtli awakens

within him. 

Before the son has a chance to speak 

to his father, He takes over. And the son translates Nahuatl. 

“Blood is a mark. A mark 

is by blood of past. Past 

leaks into present and the burden

transfers. The chaos starts 

in the village of ruin. This sanctum. 

War will run like lava, 

with ashes not far behind. 

Humans will diminish. 

Don’t fail the blood of your commons. 

My blood is your authority.” 

My son is a God!

“I am not 

your son. Kneel. 

My reign has just begun.” 

Hesitating at first, the father bows down.