Pale light slants in through smoky windows
The flickering of flames, licking the air, shimmering beat
The eye darts alive
Hypnotism
Old men and young boys scatter pine needles over the floor of the church, coating the cold marble into a carpet of aromatic green
Then they sweep it up again, the cycle over, the next comes and scatters again
Rhythmic chanting, incessant, chorus
Men in oversized black yeti coats over crisp western shirts
The women with the same black furs as skirts
A young girl was visibly bored, her baby swooped up in a scarf around her torso
The baby slept. Lips puckered and wrapped up tight
The ceiling – Jesus, a lion, a bull, a jaguar, the eagle and snake of Mexico
Eyes fixed to the flickering candles.
Small sips of fizzy drinks – of Pepsi, cola, sprite – plastic crude lettering and bottles next to all this serene madness. Makes no sense. What was used before
Diligently handed out to family members
The squawks of chickens, roosters, none in sight, but they’re there
She holds it as an inanimate object, by its legs, upside down, over the flame it swings almost motionless and lifeless and it rotates circular over the candle over the boys hand as she keeps muttering the mother chant
Another one lies dead, feathers plucked clean and face pink bloody, illuminated by the yellow smoke
They scrape scrape scrape away the moment they leave, off goes the wax off goes the pine needles
The candles melt down into the floor
Her hair was threaded into purple cloths and silver knotted pigtails
The blue wax melts a train across the marble, swimming, mixing, carving a river that turns to stone.

• San Juan Chamula, Chiapas