Читать книгу Unaccompanied - Javier Zamora - Страница 15

To President-Elect

There’s no fence, there’s a tunnel, there’s a hole in the wall, yes, you think right now ¿no one’s running? Then who is it that sweats and shits their shit there for the cactus. We craved water; our piss turned the brightest yellow — I am not the only nine-year-old who has slipped my backpack under the ranchers’ fences. I’m still in that van that picked us up from “Devil’s Highway.” The white van honked three times, honks heard by German shepherds, helicopters, Migra trucks. I don’t know where the drybacks are who ran with dogs chasing after them. Correction: I do know. At night, they return to say sobreviviste bicho, sobreviviste carnal. Yes, we over-lived.