embalajar 1

i'm packing up things from the place i've lived the longest since leaving my parents' home (only slightly longer than 912 hamlin). this is a place that has felt like home. a place i've lived.

and so, i'm going through a box of papers i've been toting around for about 6 years. i thought i'd share this gem. i'm not sure when i wrote it, but it was between a national geographic map of north american cultures and a copy of my 2006 tax returns.

we once drove over the mountain

a 2 hour trip at 11 pm

just to consume illegal substances

and return 5 hours later

hung over, sore, exhausted.

we stayed up all night chanting

in a language we didn't understand

and unknowingly ruined the cake.

we were enigmas of the desert

unbridled, unburdened, young, strong, and restless.

but we can't keep it up any more.

we fly in from the east coast

now 2 less than we were

wearing nice shoes

with purses and 3 piece suits

here we are somehow adult, still drinking vodka

from plastic bottles

but we can't stay up past 12

we are slowly dying, our adopted clan

as we cling to that language we only

borrowed superficially.