from here to there

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In my dream, John is a road builder. He wants to build a road from here to there.

On an Arizona June afternoon, you can’t do anything from 2 to 5. The best thing to do after lunch is to lie down, let it all go into the heat, let the heat go on and on.

Close your eyes and dream.

If you are in the desert from 2 to 5 in the afternoon, you need gallons of water just to survive sitting in the shade.

There is a wall on the other side of the desert.

There is desert on the other side of the wall.

The heart asks questions like, “But where do they go in the heat with their children, with their mothers? Where do they go with their lovers?”

The body asks questions like, “How much further? How much longer?”

The heart winds from here to there, looking for feelings and holding them close.

The body winds from here to there, looking for food, a moment to rest.

And water, always looking for water.

One night, I float in water, looking at the sky – the big dipper, the half-disk of the moon. I wonder who is walking in the desert tonight and why.

I float in the water, then reach and kick, propelling from one side of the pool to the other. I make it to my destination – a wall on the other side of the water. 

I float in the water’s embrace.

The heart speaks metaphor.

The body speaks survival.

The heart eats hot peppers and drinks mescal to keep it alive.

The body needs water.

The body and the heart are the same.

From 2 to 5 in the afternoon, I dream of long counters, where they feed us tamales and hug us hello, kiss us goodbye. The counters are orange and bare except for what we need. 

We have everything we need.

While we stand at the counter, John builds roads in the desert. He leaves a cross here for a body and a heart; a gallon of water there for a body and a heart.

A body wants to move – to float, to reach, to touch, to dance.

A heart wants these things too.

In my dream, a woman comes in, looks at our orange counters, sees our crumbs on those counters, leaves again.

I wonder if she will travel John’s road.

I wonder if she has enough water.

Version 2

 

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