“It’s as if you understand the big picture, but are unsure
of the details,” he wrote to me, and I don’t know if I’d ever
read truer words in that moment, that sage-like smoke
burning in the pit of my stomach, telling me, “Yes, that’s it,”
but it says so after 4 hours in a cantina drinking beers with
estudiantes and muchachos, speaking of the need to unite
below the borders of countries and governments with leaders
whose actions are sculpted from their own truths (not ours),
but at the same time the hierarchy naturally allows their faulty
reflections to fall upon us, poisoning us with a swiss cheese
shadow of stereotypes and media manipulation, and it’s only
after a table full of empty beer bottles and bilingual intercambio
that we can shed one of the layers and leave its ashes blowing
in the wind of the dirty street…


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