Gates of Fire

You don’t come back whole
from Mexico.
No more than from Venice.
Beware, Gus
warns.
Once you cross the border
where underwater
the signs point down,
take a big breath
to accrue the days
left before the wreath
follows you into fire.
At Tijuana, Nogales, Juarez,
the sun is mostly fire.
Only I am free
when Cathleen does to me
what women do
in Mexico
to wean a lover
from pulque,
to save the worm
at the bottom
of the bottle . . .
She motions, Come.
Well,
she was pimped in her youth.
What they teach first
and last:
you work on your knees
more than on your back . . .
and coming back
you pray you know the truth.
Out here
the border
is a gate closing
where it once opened.

(24 April, 3 May 2012)

copyright 2012 by Floyce Alexander