Archives: Wednesday, February 7, 2018

Fence Line

The matted grass so dense the fencepost I hammer rings jerking from the peen, waving like a stormborne mast until at last it punches through the clang turned to thud soft and unresisting wounding the hillside Weak now, my hands ache as I stretch them in their rotten gloves twisted and black like river trees

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Pollos

Enrique was appalled when he saw his cousin’s pack. He walked around it, whistling. “What do you have in here, Hectór? Furniture?” The boy shrugged, or tried to against the weight of the straps. “You know we’re walking, right?” “Not all the way, Rico.” “The boat takes us only to Salina Cruz. After that, the

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