Carmelita
Carmelita sells me a basket
“ochenta pesos” she whispers- 80 pesos
my limited vocabulary stretches that far
thanks to a C in high school Spanish
about four dollars for a basket
exquisitely woven by her Tarahumara mother
intricate patterns created with pine needles
and slender stalks of native sotol plants
it is small, delicate, purples, reds
with dark bands around the edges
echoing Carmelita, dressed in a bright calico skirt
encircling her thin brown legs
La chica “tiene ocho anos” - 8 years old
a bright turquoise headscarf slides back
revealing the blackest of hair and a shy smile
but this youngster is no novice
when gringos hand over 100 peso bills
she feigns ignorance
cocking her head to one side
she widens her coal-black eyes and is still
some savvy travelers would dig for smaller bills
but I, most happily, play along
indicating “keep the change”
with a gentle touch on her head
bills quickly disappear into her skirt pocket
gathering up her basket full of baskets
minus a few now
she heads out - a saleswoman on the move