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HOLOGRAM |
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When you are sailing and the wind on your brow makes your outside feel like a blue heart, don’t forget that it’s dark inside your pocket and that the pocket watch that is not there lies under a glass window in downtown Houston where a Mexican boy thinks of his grandfather, points, asks how much it costs. Don’t forget he breakdances in the evening at the Y and the girl in the corner who just watches and says “Miguel, you’re not using your shoulder” is also watching you as you suddenly stand feeling brittle as the cliffs, and so small a hawk could drag you off. But the girl is happy to feel the wind on your arm and know there is no end to the commas in the blue scripture, though she thinks more often of whether her parents will be watching television or fighting when she gets home that night and of whether or not she is pretty. |
