Long has it stood

and spanned a river. Long have I waited 

for you to bridge my ignorance.

Dark as me, hair long and black, 

corded like woven rope.

Where others bless Pacha 

Mama, I offer up myself 

to you. This umbilical 

of ichu grass, I grip tight,

lean into, as if I could re-braid 

ours. Like the chasquis 

who once passed through, 

I, too, carry a message.

I, too, feel rope wiggle 

beneath. Steady me. 

Cradle me. Together 

let’s cross.

Previously published by SHINE Poetry Series