Walking in Mexico

Increasingly hotter as my days went on,

I leaped under shadows

shadow to shadow to escape.

Usually heavy on my heels were the hills

as I walked all day, up and down.

Out of school at 2 pm, midday sun, my

favorite shade of gold.

Usually sorry if I had brought my computer,

usually out of breath by the time I got on the bus.

5 pesos, a half peso for change,

stand where there's room, sit if I could.

Talk quietly because I talk english,

sit next to Kate

as our legs bake in the sun,

burn onto the plastic seat.

I never want to forget

walking in Mexico.

The sun a bit lower,

heading out with a fully belly.

Usually singing,

usually obsessing over how many

steps it will be until that next

flowered bush; counting the cement

walls; smiling at the neighbors;

smiling in a way that might tell them

I can speak their language.

Smiling a little differently at the other

foreigners.

Pass the schools, the corner stores,

the woman with her daily garage & meal sale,

pass the shelf of natural herbs, the rotisseria,

the comida corrido.

Usually only a little out of breath on the bus.

The sun gone now,

my feet are filthy,

I've washed them twice in the sink.

My soles are worn,

I'm sticky but the breeze is chill.

Everything is so much darker.

Light from street posts don't seem to

pool very far around their selves.

I've seen so many things, I'm so worn out,

I have to wake up in a few hours,

is it still safe to walk home?

Then that one time we got lost.

In my own neighborhood.

And ended up outside our world,

another planet you admitted.

But I remembered the tracks,

followed the crumbs in my brain.

I got us home.

I never want to forget walking in Mexico.