Sunday, July 16, 2017

Abuelita, June 2017 (Day 179)

We crossed the border in
a rusted Falcon, on a wheel 
that was starting to go flat. 

A fountain of dust spouted 
behind us, tinting the sky  
terra-cotta where the sun shone,

Powdering our car, skin, food 
with an ancient, ubiquitous grit,
metallic on our tongues, like blood.

Whenever we passed another 
car, truck, any sign of civilization, 
she ducked and covered herself. 

Before the stark mountains, a plain, 
monotony interrupted here and there 
by run-down, sun-broken signs. 

We drove through darkness, wide 
open to the desert air, vibrating
under a million spinning galaxies.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Photo: Rennett Stowe

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