TIJUANA BUS


The trombone player
And the
Guitar player
Filled the bus
With melodic intentions

They sang:

“We are jamming
In the name of the Lord”

They did it
Very well
It was
Good enough
To dance

Nice kids
My trip
Became pleasant

COLD



Standing in line
Waiting to cross again
It’s like being
On the field
But without a rifle

It’s cold
Like it is
In the mountains

The game here
Is different
It’s still a matter
Of patience
Waiting for

The right moment

For a good harvest
For the beloved family

Instead of knives
And cartridges
We have notebooks
Pens and books
But we can also read:

Faces
Eyes
Movements
Minds

Our backpacks
Carry our
Different personalities
Useful identities
Of border crossers

ENCRYPTION


At the radio station
The poet
Sitting next to me
Opened her notebook
And began to read
The most beautiful poem

Her voice
Traveled through
The air

I marveled at
The way she deciphered
So quickly
Her handwriting

When I open
My notebook
Sometimes I have
To guess at what
I have written