The scorching desert sun was setting behind the Sandia Mountains when I landed in Albuquerque, Nuevo Mexico.
Una ciudad en el desierto.
D and I dined at Frontier on Route 66. At the counter, I was asked the state question: “Red or Green?”
“Can I have one of each?”
“Yes, Christmas—you absolutely can.”
Christmas— the pairing of red and green enchiladas—a complementary pair of stuffed and dipped tortillas in one dish.
Behind Del my eyes drifted to a familiar face: a large canvas painting of the iconic John Wayne.
Father loved to watch movies set in the days of the “Wild West”— where cowboys and Indians mapped the
landscapes in memory, before the advancement of Google Maps or Mapquest.
Basking in the dry heat of the Southwest took me back to the annual family road trips in which we
left behind the harsh Chicago winters of the Midwest en route to Mexico. Tracing the veins of the
Southwest we packed our bags and hit the road cutting through Illinois, Missouri, Oklahoma, Arkansas,
Texas, Nuevo Leon, San Luis Potosi and Guanajuato. Two days to reach the border crossing at Laredo,
Tejas and one more day driving through the rugged sierras to reach Michoacan.
At the cusp where North Oakland meets Berkeley stood a pastel, peachy-pink shoe box of a building. This whimsical Dingbat apartment on King Street became home during the summer of 2023.
12/2023
Le pedí que me llevara hasta lo más alto del rancho
Hasta la cima de la sierra, donde se cosecha camote y vive el Pochote
Dejamos atrás las calles pavimentadas de cemento
para entrar a los pulmones de los cerros
Saludamos a los ejidos, las cabañas de madera y casas moldeadas en adobe
Tierra rocosa, color canela
El Jeep dio paso a senderos desconocidos,
Con cada paso dejando huellas en el las curvas angosto
Al llegar a la loma, el sol mañanero se estiraba detrás de los cerros
Se quedó mirando en silencio y me preguntó “En qué estará pensando?”
Desde allí se podía ver nuestros vecinos
