By Felipe de La Rosa |
From El Norte, a man is crossing la frontera into Tijuana to visit his familia; when their hands clasp,
I feel borders collapsing.
From Tijuana, another man stares with hopeful eyes across la frontera, thinking only a few steps
away, dreams about a fresh start residing under a tree in the parking lot of a Home Depot.
The scent of canela roams between cars and sometimes takes a passenger seat. A doña is selling churros y bolsas de papitas. A veces she sneaks in a chip and savors the taste of salt inside her mouth when she thinks her boss isn’t looking. A veces she stares over la frontera, and her eyes
dream the promise of safety that gleams from across, instead of walking alongside Miedo,
wondering if her daughter will return every morning después de bendecir su camino a la escuela.
Through the waves of parked cars, a little boy surfs through—washes as many windshields as he
can. Cars cross la frontera with windshields clean enough to see the dreams of the little boy: a
soccer ball rolling around green fields.
Two cars behind, José Alfredo Jimenez sings “Quiero ver a qué sabe tu olvido.”
Una vereda Blocked by walls that say, yes, no,
Say, you dream, you don’t.