To the Artist's Page                             To our home page

To Esteban R. Arellano, Jr.'s previous piece     To Esteban's next piece

The Story Of Bear And Wolf And The Dream 

Dustdevils rushed across the plains,
tumbleweeds rolled towards the fading horizon.  
Horn Toad stood on his tiptoes, 
expanded and swayed;
the Old Man sat, watched & listened.

“Wolf use to tear out 
their tiny hearts,” Bear said.
“Lay em out like a liver platter.
He’d pinch out their legs
to help along their metamorphosis
or fill a jar full of the fuckers.
Looked like he had a bunch
of wiggling olives;
then he’d spend the whole day
popping them against Don Navarro’s house.”

“Fuck you --
we all did that, 
but you the only one
that ate the little bastards.”

“Old Man,” mumbled Bear,
“I dream of tadpoles,
demented tadpoles.
Their hearts ferment in my stomach.
All night the croaking disrupts my dreams.”

“The croaking in your dream wakes you?”

“No, it’s me, 
croaking, 
that wakes me.
One day, while I ate my lunch,
a fly landed on my tamale,
I flicked my tongue at it.
The funny part is,
I caught the son-of-a-bitch
and swallowed it too --
what the hell,
I’m becoming a fucking frog.”

Outside the windmill creaked and clanked,
the dogs snarled and snapped,
the horses snorted and neighed,
and the cattle stood bunched together
against a swirling red world. 
The Old Man motioned, 
and Bear and Wolf came near.
“Listen,” the Old Man began,
“go to Frog.  Tell him your story.
Leave as soon as it clears.
You must go to la laguna
over the northern hills.
This is the only way.
It is your spirits that are desperate ...”
They both agreed, nodded, 
said their good-byes and quickly left.

The Old Man watched Horn Toad sway,
his mouth wide open.
He tapped him on his head
and his tongue shot out.
“What do you think, horned one,” he asked.
Horned Toad hissed, half closed his eyes
and squirted blood.
“Cabron,” the Old Man yelled, 
spit and wiped his mouth.
“Hasta manana,” he said,
rolled over and fell asleep. 

The next morning
la luna lay heavy on the silent world,
its light broke on the yucca trees,
and the shards sliced the earth.
Venus hung desperate on the morning sky
a guiding lamp for humans 
who had trouble being.
The ranch hands waved goodbye,
shook their heads and giggled,
as Bear and Wolf rode 
into the green darkness.  

Beneath was a mirage.
Beneath the green darkness
was a mirage or was it real,
what lay beneath the darkness,
the green darkness.
Her screaming mouth,
like a mother fish
protecting her young,
held a thousand frantic tadpoles
who fed on her soft tongue.
When Bear and Wolf saw this they cried, 
because they remembered her beauty,
how lovely Frog’s daughter had looked 
covered in moonlight,
in cold light,
in light
and
all those tadpoles
frantic, demented,
beneath the green darkness
covered in dead light.
Bear croaked and croaked,
Wolf jumped and jumped.
They ripped their shirts
and, croaking and jumping,
hopped into the brush
their voices fading in the dark.

On the seventh moon,
Frog visited the Old Man.
“I dream of bears and wolves,” he said.
The Old Man watched Horn Toad sway,
his mouth wide open.
He tapped him on his head
and his tongue shot out.
“What do you think, horned one,” he asked.
Horned Toad hissed, half closed his eyes
and squirted blood.
“Cabron,” yelled the Old man,
then looked long and hard at Frog.
“Does growling and howling in your dream 
wake you,” he asked.

Outside la luna lay heavy on the silent world,
its light broke on the yucca trees,
the shards sliced the earth,
and Venus hung desperate 
on the morning sky.

To the top of this page