From Poetry

To This

A wood thrush flutes at forest’s edge; moose
stands lordly over grass; and high in birches
twigs brush shyly green. Somewhere children
watch the ground. Mothers twist veils to rope,
and deep in earth, an oily shadow seeps. Though
no one asks, I choose them all: thrush, moose,
birch, new leaves painting sky. I choose children
afraid to look, mothers hanging by jet threads.
I choose this clearing and the shadow’s path.

Patricia Lee Lewis

En Route to Guatemala

Prayer to Ixchel While Boarding the Plane for Guatemala

Ixchel
Ixchel, Maya Goddess of Moon & Weaving

Oh let the synapses reconnect

Lo siento, olvidarme todas de español

Let the words of my mouth be in Spanish

Cuando llego en Guatemala

Let the world I carry in English

Be safe and beautiful

Mis hijos y hijas, mis nietas

Y nietos, mi esposo y amigos.

May I open to the people and colors

And smells of Antigua, ciudad vieja,

Con una cabeza y corazon de español.

Patricia Lee Lewis