I've hopscotched cross-country
riding Greyhound buses
waiting in dirty terminals
- those havens for drifters...
And I recall my arrival here,
( it was ten years ago, or so...)
and your sister, Carol
who picked me up...
Carol is so pretty
( she's made-up like Selena)
and her kids were still
little...
( now the middle boy is
a delinquent
and her only girl,
back in Zacatecas.)
Your mother was there too,
pious India,
may God bless her soul...
They were my only welcome-
as I came here,
not a tourist,
but thrust by fate,
government policies
- a loving wife.
I followed your deportation,
my fear,
( accounts of violence)
And still, I crossed the bridge,
trespassed international borders,
stepped into the third world...
( It is not my parents' Iron Curtain)
Though quickly,
I came to love
this troubled city
and so much is now different-
( more than a bridge separate us)
Ciudad Juárez,
I still think of you as-
forever my home.