This poem was written in my mid-30's, when I was living off the grid in a remote corner of Belize… The tiny agro-forestry research center where I lived was upstream of a Mayan village (refugees from Guatamala, who moved to that part of Belize in the 50's). Essentially, the Belizean government had sold the timber rights of the tropical rainforest upstream to a Malaysian company, very quietly. It was the impetus for some of the local leaders to start to ally with Non- Governmental Organizations in the USA to become effective activists. I'm not certain what the final resolution was to the logging contract, as this was 1994 when I was there. I would like to think all of that forest has been preserved by this time. Hope, at least. ~Art by Paula Nicho Cume s~ Oh Mayan Oh Mayan Woman, ankles washed by swirling river while you beat the farm out of your husband's soiled pants. Oh Mayan Woman, as you scour your dishes, your c...
Women's Spiritual Poetry