Shared Air
Updated: Sep 30
Hispanic Heritage Month is an unlocked door to memory. It’s a door I know I could open regularly, but I don’t. I drive to work through downtown. Smothering. Exhaust. Bright sun and vibrant color through a window glass, but I’m in my car not a chicken bus so my stomach remains calm. The mural colors on the Mexican grocery store is filling in. Should I stop? Go in? Tell them how beautiful it is?
Al aire libre
Shared air.
Hebrew homework asks, “Have you packed for a journey?” I describe individual items I included in the hiker’s backpack I carried through airports and up volcano paths. Some, not all, were worth their weight. Sweat. Chills. I shiver.
Al aire libre
(thin but)
Shared air.
I click the arrow on the Netflix series, Street Food, Latin America. Melancholy blue sky blankets the nestled town. I can feel the weight of its light. Wet. Cool. Smoky. I inhale the scent thousands of miles away and years ago.
Al aire libre
Shared air.
The video’s view settles down into the market. I smell the produce-piled rot and the warm bubble of beans or atol or something else I’ve never tried. My icy hands wait for the mismatched ceramic mug to be plucked from a tray. My stomach growls. Or maybe it’s disappointment eeked in the chair slid across the floor. Voices and breath in English and Spanish. Something missing. Something more.
Al aire libre
Shared air.
The video pauses before it fades out. I stare from my window. Clouds above. Stars below. I walk. I exhale. I smell. I inhale. In the street. My throat burns. My heart aches. Or is it the reverse? Hispanic Heritage Month is an open invitation to memories that never ask permission to share.
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