After my father and I pulled ourselves up
and scaled back down the steep stairs of the pyramid,
I climbed into the naugahyde backseat of our pea-green Maverick.
A girl my age approached the window
and with a toothsome smile held her corn-husk doll
up to her cheek for me to see. The vest of her dress
crisscrossed her chest in green, yellows, orange and reds.
Her braided hair was black, her skin dark brown.
I returned her wide-eyed stare and pirouetted Barbie
by her blond hair. Our smiles soon ceased.
It was not about the dolls or the ancient ground,
but what could not be hidden
from the eye; two girls from the same hemisphere—
worlds apart. Without the awkward camouflage of age
or the deceit of language we stared deep and long.
As long as we could before the car pulled away.