Luci Tapahonso (2)

In Praise of Texas
Luci Tapahonso

So many times I've rushed into airports frazzled,
my hair everywhere as I lugged bags along,
my face flushed from hurrying,
and my breathing loud and raspy.

But I will never be seen like that in Texas.

Because George Strait lives in Texas.
A friend saw him once at Gate 29 of Dallas-Fort Worth.
He is so nice, she said, and to prove it,
she handed me a picture.
George Strait had his arm around her. He was smiling.
I struggled so to share her happiness.

Though that was years ago, I believe that unending faith
precedes glittering possibilities.
I believe that the world is basically good,
and so I am certain that one day
I will just happen to run in to George Strait in Texas.
Maybe he'll be buying the Dallas Morning News at a Circle K.
Maybe as I'm having a salad, he'll walk into the same cafe,
like an ordinary person, and order a medium Diet Coke.

Each time I am in Texas,
my hair shines radiant,
I won't allow dark thoughts to mar my face even for an instant,
my hat has been steamed and re-shaped,
my clothes are smooth and coordinated,
and I am never rushed.

Once as we dined alongside the Riverwalk in San Antonio,
my husband smiled at me and said, "You sure are pretty."
"Thanks honey," I said, "but do you really mean it,
or are you just saying that?"
"I really mean it," he said.
I removed my sunglasses and searched his face
in the evening light,
but I couldn't tell if he really meant it.
In any case, I glanced around very discreetly to see
if anyone else (maybe a country western singer)
shared his sentiment. Just in case, I reminded
myself to sit up straight.

No way.
You'll never see me looking frazzled
or the least bit scuzzy in Texas.
Whether we drive through Dalhart, visit Fort Worth
for a few days, take in a Rangers game,
or whether I have a brief layover at Houston-Hobby,
I believe that one has to be prepared
for whatever Texas has to offer.

Sometimes as the plane glides over that vast, plain state,
above scattered herds of horses, I can see the luster
sparkling off their broad backs like intense hope and I am
reassured that dreams can blossom without any urging on our part.

- - -
de que gosto menos.