sky blue (sky) / capital-A Adventure

1. orangesliced and
peanut butter banana
this morning i am quiet and close
to earth
edges of self curling in like a dry leaf
internal
one might call it
kate
it pulls me close to
how in handwriting
you talked about approach/avoidance
sometimes
it is what we must do
to keep sanctuary

2. entering mexico
past the guards with the sniffing dog
and then
a button i am asked to press again
that turns a light green
neither of us have seen that one before
and don’t know the logic behind it
though maybe
it is a very advanced clicker
that keeps track
of numbers
you say

3. you (i) know
you’ve (i’ve) been in the u.s. too long
when you (i) wrap my head around the fact that
you (i) can just stand in this one spot on the sidewalk
unmarked by busstop signs
and sure enough
the bus to las playas
will zoom by
barely stopping
and open its doors to you (me)
and any other person
that knows

4. you
in the window seat
which means when we talk
i get to make eye contact
and soak in the textured city
frame by frame (bus window as framing device)
bike shop BICICLETA sign in cheapblue peeling on solid white
and the cemetary
white headstones like teeth
poking up along one of few green swaths

5. sidewalksleeping dog
small pile of goldbrown
almost deflated
in noon sun
from here
i cannot see it breathing
from here
something redmaroon like blood
past ear along face
upon approach
the redmaroon disappears mirage-style
and the risefall chest shows itself

6. in terms of romance
besides alleyways, text and going steady with the farmers market
i have had to import it

7. ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder
ana teresa fernandez
in a black dress and heels climbing a ladder which has been secured into sand and angled up against the posts of the mexico / u.s. border at las playas de tijuana weilding a paint power-sprayer
first the primer
then the sky blue (sky)

8. i apologize
for the almonds
an account of their
staleness
and continue to eat them in small handfuls

9. sand sunwarmed on top layer
black grains gathering under nails and the places
where skin folds from bending (like knuckles)

10. when someone approaches saying
from a distance, i thought a part of the fence was gone
i couldn’t see it!
that is the moment
i understand
the brilliance
of disappearing a section of the fence
even if it is only an optical illusion
even if the paint will be eaten away in oceansalt wind in less than a week
how it might lift our collective psyche
to believe that for a moment
part of the wall
has fallen

11.  there are animal parts in that truck
i say
though i can not be sure
i thought i recognized the smell
from the corner where the green bay bus pulled around the smallest of three slaughterhouses
whose appearance was masked by a trailer park
and how i could not believe
that some people
lived pushed up against the smell of death
seven days a week

12. two gringos
walk along the freeway shoulder
towards the border
well, at least we’re not the only ones walking
i reference the fruit, water and what was that statue i walked past sunk low on the grass?
turtle? vendors

13. it’s a lot like this
i explain
(it meaning jury duty
and this meaning the line to get into the u.s.
where we wait
move forward
and wait
and move forward
and wait some more
[etc])
only there are chairs and maybe a magazine

14. first
you tell me about white cars
and then we pass names back and forth
names like opi
riva
maryeta

15. in the kitchen
while the curried vegetables simmer
a sonic loop cycles me back one year
summer soundtrack 2010
how i almost expect to look up out that greasy kitchen back door to find your face pressed up to the screen
me flour-handed and wrapped around you for a one-minute hug and neck inhalation