Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Even Wild Dogs Can't Keep Me Awake Press

I’ve been in Mexico this week. My parents are ex-patting and I’ve come to see where they are setting up shop. I’m a mile above sea-level. Does that mean if you “do it” on this hill, you join the mile high club? I think I found a loophole that doesn’t involve a smelly airplane bathroom. Regardless, there are orange flowers everywhere that look edible. Everything is bright and looks edible. Plants by the clothesline, a glowing white towel on the deck, hydrangea ruffling down the fence.

Things I have learned while in Mexico:

I don’t remember any Spanish. “Me llamo Gringa. Lo siento, lo siento.”

No cars have mufflers.

Local markets sell fried fava beans, puppies, pomagranites, car radios, mushrooms, blue lilies, mangos, and the reddest watermelon you’ll ever see.

All the neighborhood dogs like to sing themselves to sleep between 2am-5am. And by “sing” I mean “torture humans.”

My brother can plow his way through a 800 page Tom Clancy novel. He tans fairly easily as he lies outside to read said book.

It’s actually this beautiful and sunny all year round.

I’ve also learned that I love Noah Eli Gordon’s A Fiddle Pulled from the Throat of a Sparrow. Check this one out:

The Forest Burns into Later Time

all that I saw from the balcony

an evening’s warranted fiction yoked

little lamb that gathers & gathers against a half-eaten idea

I’m writing from the weather

inside a dictionary of difficult words

details solidify with each retelling

but someone coughs & the theater caves in

His poems gather on each other like a lovely drip sandcastle, like Gaudi’s architecture, like a book I'd like to make many, many people read.


R. said...

“Queiro dos cervesas, por favor.”

“¿Donde esta el baño?”

And if you’re feeling adventurous:

“Por favor, mantenganse alegado de las puertas.”

Maximum Etc said...

Do what?

Gordon Bombay said...

"Por favor dígame dónde comprar jalapenos."

That's a good one.