Our Love on the Other Side of This Border

Maybe I would have seen you trip

over the steps in the patio in between

classes, or we would have met on the

soccer field covered in mud and you

would have asked my name, that crooked

smile spreading from your eyes to your

mouth. Maybe I would have laughed.

Maybe, we would have had a nieve in the

plaza, and you would have held my hand

after folklórico or at a fandango where I

was learning to dance faster than my

adrenaline. Maybe, you would have given

me a bouquet of mango con chile y limón,

or elote con queso and we’d count all the

ways cuetes go off in this pueblo, and would

walk the feria at night wrapped up in blankets

drinking atole. Maybe, we would have fought

over the meaning of God, maybe, that danzón

after drinking the toritos would have made me

cry. Maybe, I would have broken your heart over

a plate of tamales and ponche, or maybe you

would have cut me off with a joke. But maybe

this land would have been large enough for our

hearts to grow, the sun would feel different on

our skin and the mercados with the viejitas

would give a calmer pace to our lives. Maybe our

cuts would be different here, with enough

medicina to move through salt water. Maybe our

roots would allow our bones to be enough.