The curandera stands barefoot

Soil reaching between her toes

Cotton wraps her in a tasseled rebozo shawl 

Marigold and bougevvilla crown her grey hair

Hymns flow to flicker large candles

From smiles of each breath,

Behind her, copal snakes the statues 

Of Cozobi and Cosijo, cleansing

Carried by the smoking eagle feathers,

Pulque orbs slipstream her thoughts

The winds swirl, chanting

Floating those drops of blessings 

To reverberate the temples 

And shower the hundreds kneeling

Waiting in the square 

Savoring bitter ninos santos 

On top of Monte Alban,

And at a distance, waking the saints 

Adorned in ivory and gold

Of Santo Domingo.

Then she summons the rhythmic sounds 

Of the distant ocean waves 

To deliver the conch into her hands

As she blows it alive, it pulsates

Every person, the temples, 

And down the hills

Carrying the scent to the valley,

Flocks of quetzal flutter

Their calls echo the wide open spaces

The spirits, the ancestors watch

They listen,

The waves then carry the conch’s drone 

Deliver with it the smell of sacred essence

Bringing the church walls alive, 

Meandering the pipe organ

Blessing the people on their knees

And outside in the church square 

People in their Sunday best,

And the young lady helping her grandmother 

With a walking stick.

Pink and orange hues join

The mountains reveal the moon in the sky

The hummingbird kisses 

The golden bowls of agave

And weaves short the fabric between realms

Lowering the heavens and the stars 

To the mountain top,

Then she holds the moon in her hands

Blessing those in prayer 

“I am the birds, the wind, the forest, and the river”, she says.

The people touch their heads to the ground

As La Mujer Espiritu glows, pulsating 

While hugging the moon.