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Ecatl
The old Aztec wind god, deity of the forgotten name,
tumbles through the grass, gay as a kitten chasing its tail,
glides through the wheat fields;
fingers lightly rippling the ripe golden stalks.
Bringer of rains, source of naked power --
for who turns the windmills of the world,
pushes sailboats across the water?
God of the Cardinal directions, harbinger of destruction,
he spills from dark clouds in a whirling funnel
that struts across the cringing land
or lifts desert sands in a blinding cataclysm.
He herds the hailstones into a stampede,
swoops down from cold heights to pierce flesh like a knife,
winds the snow into icy spirals of death.
Ecatl!
Last night, before the rains came in a fusillade,
he fell on the city like a hungry leopard.
Trees twisted and shivered,
branches clawing at the dim sky for balance
as he hurled the weakest to the ground.
Overhead lightning flashed shredded ribbons of white fire,
thunder exploded in a cannonade.
I heard him rattle my windows, paw at my shutters,
shriek and moan through any crevice he could find.
Ecatl!
Capricious, restless-- still, there is grace in his cruelty,
passion in his strength.
He cools the rancor of the sun against my skin,
gently lifts my hair, whispers in my ear.
Mesoamerica named him evil--
and yet, according to myth,
it was Ecatl who brought romance into a bland world
when he fell in love with a human woman
who was unable to return his feelings
until he made love available to all mankind.
Sue Littleton has been writing for 50 years. Her experiences come from a sheep ranch in West Texas to the sophisticated capital of Argentina,
and from 18 years in Buenos Aires to Austin,Texas.
A college education is a wonderful thing. She graduated at age 57. Her poetry returned to her with intense joy and a range unknown before
the mind-dazzling experiences of undergraduate studies.
Email: Sue Littleton
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