Bill Frayer, and his wife, Pixie, were in Ajijic for ten years from 2007-2016. That’s when Bill joined the Ajijic Writers Group and started writing poetry seriously. He returned to Maine in 2016, and Pixie passed in 2019. Bill is an active member of the Maine Poets Society and participates in several writing groups. He has been published in Maganpoets, The Poeming Pigeon,California Quarterly, Maine Street Rag, Rat’s Ass Review, and other journals. He has published five collections of poems. He taught at Central Maine Community College for 31 years and now teaches at Lewiston Auburn Senior College.
Agave Blood
I watch as they squeeze
The baked agave heart
To extract the sweet nectar
Which will become
A fine añejo.
How did the Aztecs discover
The secret of this blue cactus
Which would blunt their senses,
Perhaps, and make sense
Of their blood sacrifice?
For this tequila is
The story of all Mexico,
The beauty and the tragedy.
For as the blue agave spreads
Upon the hills of Jalisco,
Stunning against the crimson sun,
And reliably generates wealth
For a lucky few,
Always the same few,
Who squeeze the labor
From the brown bodies
As they squeeze the juice
From the cactus.
It is this same spirit
Which has nourished the
Bloody violence of the Revolution
And naked exploitation
Which has burned a hole
Into the Mexican soul.
I stopped my car
In the hot sun
One morning
Near a group
Of dark-skinned, unshaven men
To ask directions.
They staggered and slurred
And offered me
A bit of their tequila
And I tried
But could not see
Through their glassy eyes
Into their pain.
And I think of those men
And gaze at the beautiful garden
As I sip my reposado,
And remember to remember
How I have been lucky
To have been born
On the right side
Of this beautiful blue agave.
*****
The Watering
Standing amid the green
With my red rubber hose,
I use my thumb
To fan the water
To soothe the arid soil
And return my restlessness
To this routine
Of water and earth.
And as I feel the comfort
Of warm sun on my neck
And moisture leaking
Into my shoes,
I watch the soil darken
And imagine
The connection underground
As the wetness tickles the roots
And we all drink in
The fragrance of wet loam.
Together,
For a moment,
I am this garden.
And now everything
Which has existed
And lived and died
Has emerged at this place
And at this time
To bring me into this
Circle of mud and fragrance,
Into this timeless instant
When my life has emerged
In the water, in the soil,
In the fertile orgasm
Which spawns green and blossom
So perfectly. And I
Understand, at last,
That my imperfection stands among a perfection
I will never understand
Yet, In this now,
I absorb it all
Through my face
And through my shoes.
*****
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After he retired and moved to Sedona, Arizona, he taught literature at Yavapai College in Clarkdale, Arizona.
He and professional artist Bev Kephart bought a small motor home in 2003, sold most of their possessions, and traveled the U. S. for seven years. After visiting Mexico several times, they settled in the village of Ajijic, joining the ex-pat artist and writing communities.
Mel’s writing has been published online and in print in The United Kingdom, The United States, Mexico, New Zealand, and Australia. He is the author of three novels, a book of short stories, and several books of poetry. He and his wife now make their home in the village of San Nicholas de Ibarra.
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