Letter from Tulum by Pat Phillips West

Out here the day opens, sky widens, spirits rise
from Mayan ruins that stand under the beat of sun
upon rock. Air thick with sinew and sweat that built
these limestone walls and temples—shades of gray

like silos or rivers or clay—perched
on the edge of a cliff overlooking waters
of the Caribbean a captivating blue-green—
malachite or turquoise or both—

a color that puts its hand over my heart.
My photos of all this will be among things
I save in a fire. Out here a stillness wraps around me—
a firm grasp of certainty and a loose acceptance of letting

go. I ascend ninety-one stairs of El Castillo. Between this step
and that step a subtle sensation of untethered and tethered
pushes up through my boot-soles. Out here on top
of the temple, I search for what lingers ghostlike.

 

Her work appears in various journals including: The Inquisitive Eater New School Food, Haunted Waters Press, San Pedro River Review, and elsewhere. She has received multiple Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize nominations.