Mexico City as a Lake in the Mountains
Mexico City is floating—I don’t care what they
tell you—it hovers above my memory like a dream
I wandered through for two years.
For evidence, touch the ground.
Because for two years had God figured
I’d stay in backyards and basements,
wake at 6:30 to work the streets of constant music:
The trash men with bells
punctuated by screams and sirens.
Eat a meal with caballeros,
and women who could pop in a finger
in burning oil, look you in the eyes and call you a fraud.
A racing bus rips by your face.
They sing for you. They know you’re alive and pitiless.
They hold hands and dance in a dream terrarium that you
are never sure was there.
Tanner Lee lives in Ogden, Utah. His writing has appeared or is forthcoming in Hobart, West Trade Review, Weber: The Contemporary West, The Comstock Review, and Entropy Mag. Find him on twitter @heytannerlee