Yucatan |
 "YUCATAN SUN" copyright 2006 by TOM ROMERO
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We sail from Cozumel in the darkness of the early hours. Javier, the boatman, has much less enthusiasm than I, but agrees when the mordida, or bribe, reaches the right amount. He carries a kerosene lantern to light our way across the rocks to his wooden boat. Doubts intrude when I see how truly black the sea is beyond the lamp, and imagine the treacherous coral jutting upward just below the surface. We push off with only a flickering yellow on deck, and paddle until Javier deems it safe to start the motor. a single flame
I doze, lulled by the rocking motion, awakened by the sudden silence and a nudge from Javier. He motions west. Tulum! The white temple glows pink as the first rays of morning dart across the Caribbean to the Yucatan coast. They ease into a pale yellow, then flare golden as the sun continues to rise. from atop a cliff
We gaze in wonder. Javier, a native Yucatecan, as much in awe as I. We ease toward the shore and I jump onto the rocky beach. He passes my backpack to me, then shoves off. I turn. Tulum is mine, if only for a short while. My time is limited. I scramble up to the temple to sit and gaze at the blue and green patterns stretching into the sunrise. All too soon, the raucous grind of tour buses arriving breaks the silence. It's time to leave. Beneath a palapa, hut, just outside the temple site, I collect the motor scooter I'd arranged to rent for the main portion of my trip. The old attendant looks curiously at me. I use my broken Spanish, only to learn that his is more limited than mine. Since I speak no Mayan, gestures must suffice. jungle shade
I head west toward the heart of the peninsula. It grows hot and humid, the road pitted and often blocked with palm branches. Time is running short, but eventually I reach the turnoff for the ancient city, Chichén Itzá. The Plaza of Kukulkán surrounding the Grand Pyramid is crowded with sightseers. I've arrived just in time. The hordes grow silent as the narrow strip of shade beside the steps begins to flow slowly downward from the brilliant blue sky. Quetzalcoatl, the feathered serpent god, slithers to earth once more, as he does every equinox. as the sun peaks
The shadow descends for hours before gradually fading away with the sunlight. The seasonal collaboration of earth and sky is complete. I rush to climb the rough stone steps to the summit. The world is splayed below: jungle, plaza and the endless sky. I stand where gods once ruled. twilight
Previously published in World Haiku Review under the title "Equinox." Copyright 2006 by Allen McGill
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Allen writes:
Mexico is a fascinating country for many reasons, but especially for a lover of archaeology. Dotted with magnificant ruins, the Yucatan has drawn me back time and again to view. As a writer, I tend to imagine the crumbling temples and palaces as they once were, peopled with living Maya, a creative, powerful and vibrant race.
Allen McGill, originally from NYC, now lives, writes, acts, and directs theatre in Mexico. His published fiction, non-fiction, poetry, plays, photos, etc., have won awards and appeared in: HYT Times, The Writer, Newsday, Literary Potpourri, Poetry Midwest, QLRS, Herons Nest, Frogpond, Modern Haiku, World Haiku Review, and many others. He is a former member of PEN. He was an invited guest at the First World Poetry Festival in Taiwan 2005, haibun editor for Simply Haiku, and two of his plays have been professionally produced in Sacramento and LA. He can be reached via email at aljons@yahoo.com or through his website: http://tinyurl.com/m7il.
