All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Mexico
Five years old,
I jumped off a bus in Mexico
and never looked back.
I could say “thank you,”
and “tea and a hot dog, please,”
and that was all I needed.
I made friends with the quetzals
and listened to the iguanas’ secrets
while we were buried deep in the dark
of the pyramids of Chicken Pizza.
I bought belts and wooden turtles
from the dirty-faced children
who held them out to me
without asking “kooanto kwesta?”
They took me with them to a lady
who kept treasure in the folds of her skin
and fed me sweets made of caramel
and the stickiest words I’d ever heard.
I wove dresses from her stories
while she braided sunlight into my hair.
Days lost meaning, and minutes stretched
to fill in all of the gaps.
Then I got on another bus,
but the doors wouldn’t open this time,
wouldn’t let me back out
to where I belonged
until the sunlight came out of my hair,
until the words unstuck themselves,
until I gave back the turtles,
until the secrets of the iguanas
were no more than a whispered code
that I couldn’t remember.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 1 comment.