For We Write Poems.
ABOUT DESCANSOS
THE CUSTOM of marking the site of a death on the highway has deep roots in the Hispanic culture of the Southwest, where these memorials are often referred to as Descansos (“resting places”).
Traditionally, Descansos were memorials erected at the places where the funeral procession paused to rest on the journey between the church and the cemetery. The association thus created between the road, the interrupted journey, and death as a destination, eventually found expression in the practice of similarly marking the location of fatal accidents on the highway.
“THE FIRST DESCANSOS were resting places where those who carried the coffin from the church to the camposanto paused to rest. In the old villages of New Mexico, high in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains or along the river valleys, the coffin was shouldered by four or six men.
“Led by the priest or preacher and followed by mourning women dressed in black, the procession made its way from the church to the cemetery. The rough hewn pine of the coffin cut into the shoulders of the men. If the camposanto was far from the church, the men grew tired and they paused to rest, lowering the coffin and placing it on the ground. The place where they rested was the descanso.
“The priest prayed; the wailing of the women filled the air; there was time to contemplate death. Perhaps someone would break a sprig of juniper and bury it in the ground to mark the spot, or place wild flowers in the ground. Perhaps someone would take two small branches of piñon and tie them together with a leather thong, then plant the cross in the ground.
“Rested , the men would shoulder the coffin again, lift the heavy load, and the procession would continue. With time, the descansos from the church to the cemetery would become resting spots.
. . .
“Time touches everything with change. The old descanso became the new as the age of the automobile came to the provinces of New Mexico. How slow and soft and deeper seemed the time of our grandfathers. Horses or mules drew the wagons. ‘Voy a preparar el carro de vestia,’ my grandfather would say. I remember the sound of his words, the ceremony of his harnessing the horses.
“Yes, there have always been accidents, a wagon would turn over, a man would die. But the journeys of our grandfathers were slow, there was time to contemplate the relationship of life and death. Now time moves fast, cars and trucks race like demons on the highways, there is little time to contemplate. Death comes quickly, and often it comes to our young. Time has transformed the way we die, but time cannot transform the shadow of death.
“I remember very well the impact of the car on the people of the llano and the villages of my river valley. I remember because I had a glimpse of the old way, the way of my grandfather, and as a child I saw the entry of the automobile.
“One word describes the change for me: violence. The cuentos of the people became filled with tales of car wrecks, someone burned by gasoline while cleaning a carburetor, someone crippled for life in an accident. The crosses along the country roads increased. Violent death had come with the new age. Yes, there was utility, the ease of transportation, but at a price. Pause and look at the cross on the side of the road, dear traveler, and remember the price we pay”.
“Introduction/Dios da y Dios quita”, from “Descansos: An Interrupted Journey”, by Rudolfo Anaya, Juan Estevan Arellano and Denise Chavez (Del Norte , 1995).
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Descanso
Cross driven into the desert sand
Decorated with spangles
A small flag waves
As traveler drives by
Hard to say
This is my love
It happened here
Finger plunged into the
Heart of hot desert sand
A small flag waves
End of time
End of story
End of life
In hot desert sand
Angels gathered round
Decorated in spangles
Mountain crowned in smoke rings
On the radio
A voice assures monsoons are here
But not a drop again today
Pigons sit on rooftops
In stillness
Try to catch their breath
Under glare of hot desert sun
Red, yellow, purple
Mark the sacred spot
On roadside
Invite traveler
To remember the one loved
The one whose life has ended
Here — right here
In hot desert sand
Another cross erected
Simple white
Stands in mass of pink flowers
Yellow pin wheeles spin
As wind sings songs of sorrow
Each unique
Yet common in purpose
“In Memory Of”
Placed along roadside
In hot desert sand
Angels gathered round
Traveler hurries home
Hardly remembers
Sacred sites marking
Love and loss along roadside
In hot desert sand
Song of sorrow
Sung by the wind
Angels gathered round
Descansos sad reminder of the one lost and the one who lost.
annellannell 
Annell, the prose and the poetry tug at the heartstrings. A sad sign of our times has come to stay by our roadsides, too.
Beautifully said, Viv! Thanks so much. Annell Livingston HC 74 Box 21860 El Prado, NM 87529
annell@taosnet.com http://www.annelllivingston.com http://www.somethingsithinkabout-annell-annell.blogspot.com https://annellannell.wordpress.com
nice…thanks for the background and the verse…the roadsides seem to gather these like flowers these days…not going anywhere, just wont be at OSp anymore…
Liked the explanation in the prose. Nice to bring fuller understanding to a modern day experience we encounter far too often, which is reflected in your poem, Annell. Both give pause, and a moment of enlightenment. Thank you,
Elizabeth
http://soulsmusic.wordpress.com/
I really like this, Annell. We must be on the same wavelength, I am writing a poem on Mexican legends, and I have included the roadside crosses in the piece. My poem is about a road I traveled every Saturday for classes, a few years back. I still have that vision clearly in my mind of the crosses lined up along the way.
Pamela
Hi Annell..yes in some ways these seem like rather bleak, harsh reminders of ones lost..but they also seem an important part of the landscape. You have captured it and shown it to us wherever we may be in the world.. Jae (ps you might want to check your link to ‘Some Things I Think About’..when I clicked your name on my blog I ended up on the site of a young girl in Brisbane..for a while I just read the entry and not the profile and wondered if you’d gone adventuring!)
I never see one of these descansos without feeling heartsick and your poem captures that emotion. I particularly like the repetition of phrases which thread through the poem.
margo
Beautifully put Annell – thank you for reminding me to feel when I pass by. Sometimes I think I’m turning into a New Yorker – going so fast I can hardly notice the parts of this world that seemingly don’t affect me. I will breathe, slow down and send a blessing the way I used to do.
Oh, I love the repetition and the rhythm of your poem – it feels like a litany of loss. I can feel the hot sun, and the bleakness of the landscape. Beautiful.
Annell, back for the stone of the day. The repeat on the word lost is striking in such a brief statement of reality. Pulls the reader up short and forces a moment of contemplation.
Elizabeth
Thank you for the explanation and the poem–“song of sorrow/sung by the wind/angels gathered round” Very moving.
What a lovely post! I write a blog about spontaneous shrines [spontaneousshrines.wordpress.com] and I’m always fascinated to read people’s reactions to these unique folk memorials. Your photos are beautiful and it was really nice to see such an artistic and thoughtful overview of descansos. I look forward to reading more!