1980s & 1990s
As a poet in the late 80s and living in Raton, New Mexico after college, I only wrote two poems. I hadn't yet embraced myself as a poet and didn't see poems all around me.
But when I moved to Albuquerque in 1991 and participated in the Rio Grande Writing Project in 1992, my poetry exploded. I began seeing poetry everywhere.
I include here a poem I wrote for my second husband and read at our wedding. Sadly, we divorced.
In 1993, Jeanne Greenhouse, Eleanor Schick, and Carol Kreis, who I learned from in the Rio Grande Writing Project, honored me by asking me to join the staff as a teacher for the workshop that summer. Afterwards, I attended two advanced workshops in 1994 and 1995.
One fun-filled activity we did while attending the Writing Project was a Drive-By Poetry Reading on Central Avenue across from the University of New Mexico—a very busy intersection. We stood on the street corner in front of the Frontier Restaurant and read poetry to anyone who walked (drove) by! We shocked students, professors, everyone!
I saw poetry everywhere!
Thirty-eight years ago, I wrote this poem after my memorable adventure in Cobá, Mexico in the summer of 1985. Laying solemnly unattended on my computer, it haunted me for many years because of my surreal experience there.
After studying the genre of magical realism at Colorado State University with my Spanish literature teachers, it fascinated me—reality with a dash of magic.
So, what is magical realism:
"Within a work of magical realism, the world is still grounded in the real world, but fantastical elements are considered normal in this world. Like fairy tales, magical realism novels and short stories blur the line between fantasy and reality."
https://www.masterclass.com/articles/what-is-magical-realism#what-is-magical-realism
Look Closely—I am standing on the middle of Coba, Mexico
Cobá—I Was There!!
Written - March, 1986
Revised – July 25, 2021
The year was 1985.
Walking down an overgrown jungle path
with my friend Lynn,
an iguana crosses my trail—
toucan birds grunt and croak
above my head,
nestled in the canopy.
A turn in the footpath, thick over-growth
blocks the sun for a minute.
Shadows, sounds, smells—
transport me back to 900 A.D.
A shiver pierces my soul.
Decked in colorful dress, Mayans step out
of the past,
brush against me.
The hair on my arm stands up
with that soft touch.
I stare at crumbled ruins—crumbled times—
straining to see with my eyes their faces
and hear with my ears their voices.
The bees buzz in the tops of the trees.
Where am I?
When?
With whom?
A step back in time, yet caught in between!
Is it 1985 or 900 A.D.?
or somewhere in between?
Had I been here before?
At this spot,
centuries before,
standing at the foot of this temple,
surrounded by my fellow Mayans,
worshipping the god "Chac" and
listening to the familiar
squeaks of birds
and the laughter
of howling monkeys.
The smell of incense fills the air—the mingled
odor of honey and grain
my sacrifice to my god.
The drums beat, beat, beat a familiar
steady cadence,
draws me to it,
echoing my own heartbeat,
and calls me to it.
The priests chat, chat, chat soft sounds
that join the
bass beat of the drums.
The Mayan language a mystery to me
yet I know its deep meaning.
I sway to the beat, the chat.
It vibrates in my soul, calling me forth
through the ages,
crashes past time’s barrier!
Dark bronze skin glistens in the firelight.
Brown eyes search our faces for safety.
Flat foreheads surprise me
with their symmetry.
I marvel at the feathery head dresses
with multiple colorful gowns.
I join the celebration,
the ceremony!
Small, sturdy people crowd around me,
greet me in a soft, rhythmic tongue.
Gently, friendly—a spark shines
in their eyes with recognition!
We stand eye-to-eye!
THEY KNOW ME! I’m among my own. I'm home!!!
I rejoice in our reunion. My light skin shines
in contrast to my bronze-skin brothers
and sisters.
How can I explain our connection?
We are centuries apart,
tribes apart,
languages apart.
Yet, here I am,
at home
and satisfied
like never before.
I marvel at the ceremony,
the rhythm
the music
the smells
the community.
I have never felt more
at peace with myself
and my world.
But it can’t be!
I grew up in Colorado.
Not Mexico
Not years ago
Not Mayan
"Did you hear that? What was that?"
my friend grabs my arm.
TRANSPORTED BACK
GONE
REALITY, or is it?
I'm back. 1985.
The jungle’s summer heat presses in,
the sun's scorching heat.
Eerie sounds and hums flow
through the air.
Eerie, yet familiar.
I strain to hear it better
to hear the beat of the past,
to see those familiar eyes.
I want to return!
But can I?
