SandScript 2020

Boundaries Were Nothing
Christopher Rubio-Goldsmith
I imagined the clouds were the Angel of Independence in Mexico City.
Wings, arms ready for the next day,
the next earthquake,
the next time smoke from Popo infused
the car horns, the future crowding into el metro.
POETRY
When I was 18, I spent the summer there with my mother who libraried her days in
academic adventures. Most of my days were filled with journeys through los calles
with the almost-grown children of my mother’s old law school friends.
One thought himself a formula one driver,
because at 18 who does not believe they cannot be anything but beautiful
and bullet-proof
Another a wanna be banker, financier -- a nerd who spent a grip of time
getting ready to venture out into the incredible pollution:
No wrinkles on his clean clothes,
his hair in perfect resistance to the mythic winds.
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