while visiting Templo Mayor in Mexico City, i reckon:
walking the same land Cortés walked tried to own.
in the shadow of his Cathedral,
i too, am a mass of gold & black.
Templo Mayor is now a museum.
are there records of black people
visiting plantations and crying?
my body is the context.
Templo Mayor is open 9AM - 5PM today.
what makes people want to tour the end
of something? Archaeologists
had to break the temple walls in order to learn more about them.
my history, returning to me always
across from the Cathedral, someone sells Aztec
how many spells i’ve said
under my breath since i sharpened
my wet eyes & set my palm to the ground.
the Cathedral’s holier house
waits its turn to sink
& my classmate remarks
on the tour guide’s “good English.”
i enter the Cathedral
so i cannot be afraid of it
but only after returning
to the temple. & i do not touch the stones -
each volcanic rock carried by hand to the construction.
each stone split
by European hand &
thrust into the Cathedral.
i don’t know if you understand the meaning of ruins:
everything old is made new