Deborah Diemont

Lonely Planet ™ Lover

Highway 190 ascends as if to Heaven
then plunges to the piney Jovel Valley,
baptized San Cris TOH bal, rain-wet city
where lost souls like you and I are destined
to be found. So far from home, let's spare
our names, explore mosaic streets for hours,
and in my budget room with moonshine, flowers,
convert to Mayan calendar and prayers.
Unpack your weathered duffle, Love. Hang dry
your losses. Here's a draft to make you brave
before sun kisses afternoon good-bye
and pitter-patter crescendos—tidal waves.
And if, beneath the din, you hear a cry,
relax; we'll let the torrent purify.

Woman Weaving at Backstrap Loom

"Make my guilt vanish, heart of sky, heart of earth . .."
                        --from Mayan Daykeeper's prayer,
                           translated by Dennis Tedlock

Banish my guilt, heart of earth, heart of sky;
Let my fingers winding threads inscribe me well.
We begin, and tiny gestures multiply.

Backstrap, tree, spun wool, red dye, describe an I
Reserved; ancestor pattern can't rebel.
Banish my guilt, heart of earth, heart of sky.

Snail-curved babe perceives my breath as lullaby,
Shifts to settle in the arch under its spell.
Plant a seed, and tiny gestures multiply.

Bobbin inching through the warp provokes a sigh
To vanquish knees, transcend the ache and swell.
Banish my guilt, jade-green earth, azure sky,

When I wonder, does your heart elect my eye?
Spider's gift trickled in raindrops shouldn't dispel
Tribal belief: our tiny gestures multiply.

Today, I'm famished—beneath my ribs a cry
Unanswered. What flowers here, who can foretell?
Banish my guilt, heart of earth, heart of sky.
We begin, and tiny gestures multiply.