A rainbow splits into tribal patterns
as I meld into the crowd of huipils.
Me, wearing my multi-pocketed
khaki travel vest and a hidden
money belt. Practical walking
shoes for uneven pavement.
Chichicastenago market place.
Vendors pursue, offering trinkets,
and won’t take “no.”
One wag of the index finger,
the Guatemala finger,
would dismiss pursuit.
Layers of copal and bodies,
intoxicate. I drift into the dim light
of colorful specialty tents.
A chicken reads my fortune.
I buy a leering Mayan mask.
Copal lures me toward four hundred
year old Iglesia Santo Tomas.
crowded with tourists and beggars.
I step into silence of the temple,
now a church and the rush
of marigolds strewn on the floor
brighter than the sun,
a sparkle in Virgin Mary’s eye.
Marigolds, copal and peace.