Thursday, November 30, 2006
PHOTOGRAPHS ARE FORBIDDEN
I cross the threshold into a world I have forgotten…
a place suspended in time.
The glow of a shimmering sea of light awaits me as I tread on the
pine needle carpeted floor,
breathing in the scent of the burning copal.
Sounds of whispered chattering, groaning, and chanting abound
while eggs are rubbed over an ailing body.
Invoking holy names, a curandero
abruptly snaps the neck of an unsuspecting chicken.
As liquid offerings of firewater and coca cola overflow,
expelling evil spirits with each burp.
A host of Saints, generously adorned with milagros and photographs,
preside in silence.
Jane Fulton Alt
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