IMMIGRATION/ LINDA AMUNDSON

Let’s live in Mexico,

where stoplights only work on Sunday

and the name of the father the son and the holy-ghost

are Enrique, Jesus and Luis.

They sit in faded beach chairs drinking cervazas

and argue the right way to think about everything.

Let it be a place I can say, today I will not wear teeth

only shoes, water droplets and shadows.

On a moonless night we can slip the border like trout,

to find an orange house with hot pink bougainvillea.

We can wander the marketplace finding blue glasses

for our casa where old dreams collect by the gate,

catch fish and listen to the stars and whales.

as we explore both sides of the Sea of Cortez.

Let’s eat too much and drink too much and laugh

like we just discovered dancing,

and think about time travel, and if the place we were

when we first dreamed of Mexico is still the same.

With each sip of morning coffee, we will taste

the dreams of those who went norte as we went south.

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