The Old Mexican Woman in the Witness Chair
Wooden, shoulderless, the star witness sits at the edge of the chair,
Holding her black shawl to her chin with one enormous hand
That does not move. Her eyes turn from the attorney to the interpreter,
Her lips stir stiffly like the lips of an image
Answering the incantation of a wizard —
In a black bank the jury hangs above her,
Leaning their heads to the toneless sibilance of her replies.
The judge leans toward her from his high desk on the other side.
The courtroom is crowded, dark faces in gawdy hats, dark faces in shawls,
Dark faces of men lean toward her in heavy rows,
Even the aisle is filled with people standing,
Turning their eyes on her eyes, leaning their bodies toward her —
Like an image of wood the old woman sits, backed by an unchanging shadow
Holding her shawl close to her chin with one enormous hand.
Holding her black shawl to her chin with one enormous hand
That does not move. Her eyes turn from the attorney to the interpreter,
Her lips stir stiffly like the lips of an image
Answering the incantation of a wizard —
In a black bank the jury hangs above her,
Leaning their heads to the toneless sibilance of her replies.
The judge leans toward her from his high desk on the other side.
The courtroom is crowded, dark faces in gawdy hats, dark faces in shawls,
Dark faces of men lean toward her in heavy rows,
Even the aisle is filled with people standing,
Turning their eyes on her eyes, leaning their bodies toward her —
Like an image of wood the old woman sits, backed by an unchanging shadow
Holding her shawl close to her chin with one enormous hand.
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