The freedom I feel while waiting for the bus. I smile and take note. It reminds me of the color mustard and how I wore it for more than a year, strapped to my back, waiting and smoking and leaving and, saying hello again and again.
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“Quito se llama ‘La luz de America,’ he told me and I thought that it wouldn’t hurt so much. This place of water pouring and dripping down verdant valleys and soft, smooth rocks rising up from craters with lava lakes and palms and monos and oil.
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Can our love find a way that is not violence? That is not a reaction of hatred to hatred? Fear pushed up against fear, heavy heads against brick wall alleys?
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It is a risk to love. I think of this as I sit next to my cousin on the broken down porch of our Grandfather’s home. He’s wearing a gun. I can…
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Life Musings“These are uncharted waters. Keep a fierce look-out,” and other sage advice from my sister
In a way, my sister grew me up. Although I am the oldest of three, we are all close enough in age that in a sense, we raised each other. I would…
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Spidey sense. I keep thinking about it and what it means. How the web weaved is safety and comfort but also sticky and sometimes I can get trapped there. In my own…