Rebecca And The Mexican Pyramid

The pages of your book are stuck together,
you say the poetry you write can not be right,
you drive backward in time
to the Mexican universe.
These are the things we can
and can not do,
the pyramids spinning
away from paradise.
You learn how to be
the perfect Mexican girl,
you cook, you sew, you learn
to take care of man,
and the years go on and on.
Now you are locked in a temple
which lies in ruin,
the jungle reclaiming its beasts,
the triangle ablaze,
and lava that can not be washed away,
higher and higher
over the Pre-Cambrian,
the Pre-Columbian.
I don’t know how you rise above it.

written on November 21, 1989