On foggy mornings, I pretend the thickness is the echo of ghosts from other dimensions.
When it rains, I breathe in the forest as hard as I can and tell La Llorona I am sorry. I ran away from the desert. I was so small and I really thought chupi was going to scratch at my door or fly through my window and bite my neck.
On muggy days, I climb up trees to strip them of their moss. I wear a moss toupee and shout at the sky about my favorite dreams. I like the ones where I fly. I like the ones where I road trip with my family and we argue over where to drive to next. I like the dreams where I sit at my bisabuela’s house and I can smell her garden and the plastic protectors on her couches.
I was nurtured to connect with lineage and blood. I was nurtured to question imbalances in power and to look up at the sky if I needed a favor.
On windy days, I open my mouth wide and crunch the grains of sand between my teeth.
When the sky goes red, I pretend I’m on Mars and look down at my feet. I run and run in and out of canyons until I have to fall asleep again.
