by Christiane Williams-Vigil
The soil loosens under his talons. Deep copper tones of clumps break apart into fine powder. The rooster pecks at the ground a few times to try and stir grub from their hiding spots. In the Sierras, the scent of early morning pan and café de olla fills every Adobe home. His feathers look almost black in the low dawn light, and the icy chill of the night forces him to scrunch into himself.
In the days of the ancient Mexica, there were high pyramids that roosters like him would perch on to give their cry. His crow was sacred. It announced the victory of Dios Tonatiuh against the evil, lesser gods who wanted to destroy the sun. Throughout the night, everyone slept in blissful sleep, hopeful that tomorrow they would see the rising sun. The roosters took their charge with pride, and every morning they’d cry out as the Jaguar warriors did after battle. The years rolled on, the Empires fell, and several new ones came and went. Still, the roosters continued to cheer.
In the horizon, a warm glow begins as a thin line, and then it grows, clinging to the soft hues of yellow and pink, converting the atmosphere into blue. The rooster flaps his ruby feathers and soars up onto the brittle, cracked fence post. It’s not a pyramid, but it will do.
The sunlight floods the campos, igniting everything in brilliant sudden warmth. The rooster lifts his head up, taking in the last of the icy air and exhaling out his grateful cheer for the forgotten god.
Christiane Williams-Vigil is a Xicana writer from El Paso, Texas. Her work has been published in anthologies and various literary magazines such as Somos Xicanas Anthology, Fatal Flaw Literary Magazine, The Write Launch, La Raiz Magazine, and Latinx Literatures. Currently, she is an MFA student for the Creative Writing Program at the University of Texas at El Paso.