Pirámide de hombres, (c.1944)
Juan en las ruínas de Uxmal/realmente de Palenque
N 20° 21’ 35.64” W 89° 46' 6.167”
On centuries of stone, seventeen men seated in four rows
pose for photos they’ll later send home to their families:
wives and children, siblings, parents: un recuerdo de Palenque.
Months after clearing what bulldozers and cranes have left
behind: with axes, saws, picks, shovels, short-handled hoes,
and machetes, dressed in their best — newsboys, fisherman’s
caps, fedoras and straw sombreros; single and double pocket
buttoned shirts, high-waisted trousers, pressed and cuffed; in
wing-tips, two tones, and romeos still gleaming from their last
shine — Juan sits (third row, far left) his hair parted off-center,
fingers interlaced, twenty-two years old, and the youngest of
them all. The foreman collects from each of them a few pesos
to pay a native boy to guide them to the Big Water, the House
of Nine Sharpened Spears, the Great Temple of Inscriptions,
where they’ll take group photos, until Juan splits off to trek
to the Temple of the Sun and the Temple of the Cross, walk
through the Palace courtyard, through the Temple of the Count
to the ball court. He’ll send home to his mother a letter written
in careful cursive by lamp light stating that he his wife, and two
children, who have made the journey to Chiapas with him, that
they are holding things together — a lie he’ll enclose with photos
and mail three states away, while his wife gets up to breastfeed
their daughter, whose cry in this moment, can barely be heard
above the constant uproar in the nearby jungle, full of darkness.
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