Stone Woman

She cries stone tears

Photo by Stephanie Klepacki on Unsplash

My friend Bing dropped by today,
he knew I was feeling under the weather,
bluer that river water
that flows to the sea
meeting the sky on the far horizon,
I sigh.

He invited me on a trip to Xunantunich,
in Belize, “We’re touring these pyramids, if you please,”
Not today, Bing.
I prefer burying my tears in my coffee cup,
watching the drip of the faucet as it drip and drop,
plip and plop forming puddles.

“Stone Woman, Maiden of the Rock,” roared Bing.
A stony stare I fixed on him,
“Curb the insults, man. Look, I’m coming.”

“That’s what it means — stone woman in Mayan,
Home to palaces and temples, sitting high on Mopan,
the meeting place of ancestors, yours too,
they gather and talk about you,
and how you’re doing,
they understood the blues that you’ve been colouring,
and sent me to remind you of their love and attention,
they asked that you don’t forget where you’re coming from,
and not give up when the end is so near
Maiden of the Rock, you rock,”
Bing solemnly declare.

© Ilis Trudie Palmer 2022
One Love

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