In a dream
I wrote my future
Carefully crafted my last years
in words, my own voice
which said
I could create the future in Oaxaca
there would be time to write
not speeches for others’ voices,
but poems
about color
corn
birds
music
Have you heard the saying
You write because you must?
Who said that?
I must,
though I don’t know why
I don’t know why
I’m thinking about forgoing a condo in Berkeley
I don’t know why
I’m so scared
or why it must be Oaxaca
And I must start over again
My friends are here
Grand Lake Hardware, Berkeley Bowl, Cole Coffee
beloved church
the sweet old dog, longtime partner in life
he might stumble
on Oaxaca’s gritty streets
What if my writing isn’t any good?
27 years ago I moved across the continent
I worried to death, how would I iron my clothes?
When I arrived, I bought an ironing board.
