Cruzando El Rio Bravo Poem by George Wallace

Now I belong to the river,
and claim this crossing
as my own, now this burden,
now this transgression, shoulder
to hull, hauling rope;
my fist of wind, my
sweat of bone -
Valley sky in July,
one man crossing
is all men crossing,
women, children, men,
and there are no bridges
and there are no walls,
only the call of freedom
which is all mankind's calling,
just ask Anna Julia Cooper,
no race no creed no caste
which government of man
can hold dominion against,
no hangman's noose,
and the river embracing
all sides, and with a head start
and a good strong leap
with twenty strokes
I could get to the other side
faster even than a ferry
a rowboat or a raft,
freely cross this river,
wade across it,
float downstream,
live freely on each side,
unite soil to cloud, return
vision and liberty to
this continent -
one land, one
human river,
no differences
between us
and the birthright
of humanity.

And it would be honest work
to steal across this river alone,
or joined with the hands of other men
pulling together, honest work,
performed honorably,
shoulder to shoulder,
no burden in shared work,
no burden in hands
obedient to the act of brotherhood,
our true animal nature,
unlike the ocelot or otter,
unlike the dragonfly
stuttering this way and that,
or bees mad in their swarm, or
the farm animal that breaks
free of its chain -they have their
animal nature, we have ours,
may no man stop any of us.

(And here the periscopes of sunflowers rise up, whole fields of them, and gaze along the banks, to the sunlight, to the other side, no taller than a child, you could hold the corolla of a valley sunflower in the palm of one hand, feel its soft hairs bristling in the wind)

And the cliff face is my face,
and the breath of water is
my breath, and a man could
stride through a river like this,
fifty manly strides to freedom,
with his wife and child
on his shoulders, all
his worldly wealth,
and the breathless heart
would be filled, freedom
flavoring his lungs like wheat,
his back to the past,
his future before him,
reaching to the other side -
Nehuatl, Mestizo, Spanish,
A man! His eyes and his cloak
his throat and his lungs
are his passport,
when he looks up
from this crossing
he will be free,
the woman on his shoulders
will be proud of him,
as proud as she is
in her own secret triumph,
heavy with child.

And in the mesquite blowing,
And in the falling down farmhouse
And in the untrimmed beard of oak, liberty.

And yes I belong to the river now.
And to the animals, I belong to them.
Now I belong to the Virgin -
Bless me Guadalupe,
I am the ferry and the ferryman,
the crosser and the crossed,
Cruzando el Rio Bravo, Amer-ican.
My name is freedom.

Untie me now from the ebonas tree. Loose my seed to the sun and stars. I am invisible, I am coming across. No man or army may stop me now.