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Taylor Graham A History of Mexico, 1985 Where X-axis collides with Y, vertical reinforced concrete cracks against that uneasiest sleeper, Earth, tossing-turning on her bed of tectonic plates. From opposite coasts you and I came together, teamed to find survivors among 18 million souls who lay down in their bodies on a dry lake-bed. How many never woke up? * Example: that apartment building which before the quake stood 15 stories high, 10 apartments to each floor, now pancaked, with so many mothers, fathers, children behind every jammed door: how many humans compacted in a stinking pile— you pulled on your helmet, ran ahead of us, not caring if it was the wrong steps. * A languid toxic smoke rose, water-doused smolder of hair and burned mattresses, floral blouses, appliances and pin-striped suits. A barking mongrel who survived with just an eye gouged out guarded his smashed home and family, wouldn't let you in, though you begged in all your languages, even dog-talk. * After that, you slept as fitfully as the rolling hills of home. Nights did you dream in Spanish, asking of each ghost its name? What histories they wrote on your face. I imagine you standing at the mirror, puzzling each new line; then going to sleep again, reciting to each ghost its deeds. So do I, turning the pages that they read. |