Crossing into California

In-between states

I.

Crossing into California, 510mph descending toward the black dot of San Diego over Colorado, Utah, and Arizona, we race toward the sun-soaked land through deserts and canyons, through urban and rural, legal and illegal through boat and raft, through rum and whiskey, through foreign and local

through wild and abandon, through gold and rush, through white and flight through war and poverty, through vision and visionary, through death and the forgotten crossing into California, 510mph descending toward the black dot of San Diego

II.

Cacti can live off very little, and are brave against the heat; without trying, scorpions bury their heads in the sand to prepare for battle; without trying, the oasis bubbles up out of nowhere, or so it seems; without trying, we drink for a while then walk on with great exertion and terror

With great exertion and terror, our mouths go dry for days; without trying, horror in our breath and static in our memory we lose faith; without trying, no God would allow the refugee to starve out here in the land of the dead; without trying, this God could liberate the souls of the suffering stateless, without so much as lifting a finger

III.

Mexico, I know nothing about you, so I won’t sentimentalize; it would do you dishonor, and I do not dare. You wouldn’t cry in front of your God, and why would you? Tears are too wet for your sand

Mexico, your people seek Him in the desert He is back home with his six-pack and cigarettes. In the desert they call His name, and it echoes through the desolate canyons. Only the coyotes reply.

Mexico, I’m almost embarrassed to invoke you. You are the name on the tip of my tongue on the edge of my breath a word for your people, on CNN I watch your children die and wring my hands

Mexico, you’re on the other side and might as well be Mars; we stand, you and I, on opposite ends of a chasm deep as the centuries. Your side is a dune and mine a well. Or maybe it’s the opposite. Hell.