make eye contact when I nod 

as I recognize the Spanish 

word for lunch. 

He makes special jokes 

for the Spanish speakers. 

I know enough to know that. 

He stands at the front of the bus, 

in English tells us the Mayan word 

for Jaguar, the four types 

of cenotes, the ways we 

will experience the fresh water 

source of the Yucatan—zip line, 

canoe, snorkel. Later, he helps me 

with a body harness, tightening 

straps around my tanned thighs, 

my waist. He gets low to adjust 

my helmet and speaks in Spanish, 

asking if I am scared and I nod, 

because I do not understand 

more than two of his words, 

but his dark eyes match mine 

and today I must be dark 

enough to pass for belonging.