The Resumidero
"A drainage, a place where things come together."
That's what Mr. Castenada said.
Last spring I asked the ranger,
a Jicarilla from up near Lindreth.
He grinned, wide lipped, shook his head.
"I'm not good enough a Mexican," he said,
standing there, one foot on the barden bumper
of the Forest Service truck,
firm pot belly riding on a rodeo buckle,
clean shirt, greenish levis,
taking us in with the appraising squint
of a law and order man
up there
near the beaver dam
ten days before the start of fishing season.
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