Mónica Tapiarené. “La Causa”
ENTRA LA DAMA DRAGÓN-San Francisco, California, 1962
San Francisco—César Chávez conoció a una maestra de Stockton en la Organización de Servicios Commuitarios (Community Service Organization), una organización dedicada a mejorar las vidas de los México-americanos.
Nuestros ojos se encontraron
y me quemó la llama que dentro de tí ardía.
Fuego de justicia.
Fuerza de cambio.
Estruendo incisivo.
Tu sueño es mi sueño.
Mi sueño es tu sueño.
´´Tú y yo debemos formar un sindicato´´
Salió de tus labios de dragona.
Rainbowe Kilborn. “The Dragon Lady in the Borderlands/La Frontera.”
I do not much wish well to discoveries,
for I am always afraid they will end in conquest and robbery
– Samuel Johnson
It’s 12 am. I booked the first Uber I could. It is hard to get an Uber at 12 am, yet it is also hard for a 91-year-old woman to get up from bed at 12 am and get dressed. I turn to look at the side of the bed next to me, and I wish Richard Chavez was still there, next to me. He always helped me with everything. Even to get dressed. Even when I couldn’t go on, or felt like giving up, he managed to make me feel like a real Dragon Lady, and not only as a nickname.
Getting up from bed is always a hassle especially at my age. I really can´t understand what my son had said on the phone when he called me at 11:30 pm. All I know is that I must be in the hospital because my granddaughter has been, and I quote, “beefed”. He didn’t tell me what had happened to my granddaughter, but my heart tells me that my son hides something. A mother’s heart always knows. And I know because the clouds covered the moon, and the silence and the darkness filled my house as I came in from Bingo night. In prison in my own house. “Richard, a premonition is about to come.”
Andrea Mauk. “His Bones.”
“We shoulda stopped for gas back in Laredo,” Shane watched the needle inching lower on the gauge.
“You should get a truck from this century so you don’t burn so much gas,” Kenny reached under the threadbare seat and grabbed a can of beer. The night was inky and the radio reception was spotty at best on the backroads, picking up an English station one minute and a Spanish station the next. Kenny popped the top and took a swig of Miller Lite. “You want one?”
Shane nodded. “That’s why we’re taking the long way. Less cops.” Less cops didn’t make the route safer. Shane knew that anyone who was up to no good probably also took this route that was mired in the blackness of the desert night. That’s why he never liked to stop along the way.
“You know the sheriff is probably at the saloon himself right now, having himself some shots of that good rye.” Kenny took a whiff of the air outside the window of the old Ford pickup. “You smell the water? I thought we were heading away from the border.”
On The Edge 
Leave a comment