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Artist Info:
For the first time, on the road north of Tampico,<br />
I felt the life sliding out of me,<br />
a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear.<br />
I was seven, I lay in the car<br />
watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass.<br />
My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin.<br />
<br />
“How do you know if you are going to die?”<br />
I begged my mother. <br />
We had been traveling for days.<br />
With strange confidence she answered,<br />
“When you can no longer make a fist.”<br />
<br />
Years later I smile to think of that journey,<br />
the borders we must cross separately,<br />
stamped with our unanswerable woes.<br />
I who did not die, who am still living,<br />
still lying in the backseat behind all my questions,<br />
clenching and opening one small hand<br />
<br />
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