is the name of this little known dirt road
that leads to the Rio de Aguas.
"The place where one thrashes" trigo trechel, tremesino, marzal,
candeal, piche, jeja, or blanquillo.
Joselito and his burro have rounded
the corner with a bale of saracen wheat.
These are the flat stones where all
the farmers of the lugar have thrashed
their harvests for centuries.
Joselito nudges his burro to unload-- Aya, Negrita. Ya estamos.
Antonio Maria is leading his herd of goats
to the dry river bed at the end of the road.
He sings guajiras to all his goats--
Adios pueblo de Mojácar,
adios pueblo de alegría,
cuantas penas y miserías
me recorro de memoría . . .
Joselito takes his pitch-fork
carved from bleached olive wood
and launches the dry wheat-stalks
into the air. Tomorrow morning,
the scent of fresh-baked bread will
pass by every window of this little known
dirt road and Antonio Maria will return
with his herd of goats singing--
. . . Yo alli que tenía
mi recreo y mi dulzura
divirtiéndome como mozo
y ahora me veo así
preso en un calabozo.