Maria Sabina

When Maria Sabina died,
someone twisted the neck
of a rooster and laid it
by her side. On the fourth
day, not the third or the fifth,
its spirit rose up and crowed,
calling her soul to depart,
to start its journey
to the Dead Land,
feeding on squash seeds,
greens and fruit along the way.

Someone lit two candles at her feet.
And on the fourth, not the third day
or the fifth, her soul rose
and folded a palm cross
in the fingers of her right hand
as it lay across her breast.

She followed the rooster to rest,
dressed not in fine powder
on the wings of a butterfly
but naked, without shoes,
through cow fields and cold streams.
She was neither thirsty nor hungry.
On that day, in a single moment
of the moon, she felt fresh.