by Ray González
I return to EL Paso often.
It must be the river and the cross on the peak.
The sun withers in clouds Like men careful in stepping through the back
door.
I remove the stone step.
In my father's house, a strange woman.
Inside my mother's walls, a white sheet, and a globe of the earth in a
photograph.
Let those who favor mystery speak.
It is the stone step where a boy fell.
In my home, books collect dust.
On the mountain wall, a painted red hand.
From:
CUTTING THE WIRE Photographs and Poetry from the US-Mexico Border
Copyright ©:
2018, University of New Mexico Press • Albuquerque
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