white-nectarines

[white-nectarines]

going east

california start only one way to go

the interstate goes through so many states so off to the east we go

driving, stopping, driving, stopping picking up magnets along the way

somewhere in new mexico, the terrain becomes sandier there are less arizona rocks

somewhere in new mexico, clouds cover the sky in a dark threat

somewhere in new mexico, suspicions rise and people question: what’s up there

somewhere in new mexico, the road seems to blend into the sky like a stairway to heaven

somewhere in new mexico, a billboard reads: have no fear

only one way left to go

[white-nectarines]

geronimo

as a child, I thought my aunt’s house was haunted—

flickering lights and dark corners, rumored Ouija boards to keep me out of rooms.

Open land all around, the trees would take shape in the evening—

Witches and Slenderman waiting for me in the distance

In the morning, the roosters would call out to me, letting me know it was safe to go outside.

before the clouds roll in and the rains flood the clay dirt; rains so heavy the yard would flood, waist deep

the moonshine that night, made the yard look like the sea

witches i thought would fly over water spraying from their brooms

In the morning, the roosters would call out to me, letting me know it was safe to go outside

in flip flops and swim shorts to wade around in the water and play pretend that i was on the deserted island of geronimo road.

[white-nectarines]

intro. 11/21/2023

as a child, i could never name any of my favorite things. upon moving into the new house, the room i shared with my sister was a dusty purple, so purple became my favorite color for the next fifteen years. even when we repainted the whole house, my room remained unchanged save for a layer of airbrushed paint only one shade darker than the original lilac.

i knew the things that i didn't like, though. i could tell you how i would only eat spaghetti noodles because the tomato sauce made my stomach twist. or i could explain my distaste for the ice cream flavor "rocky road" or anything papaya flavored. still, i considered myself at the ripe age of eight years old to be very adaptable. sure i liked grapes and mangos and pizza and pozole and disney princesses and barbies and hannah montana and a beautiful spring day and christmas presents and swinging so hard i feared for my life, but none of that was special to me, none of it was my favorite.

when asked, i would clam up and begin the mental list of what i liked. i would say "my favorite food is pizza" and ultimately add, "but i also really like chicken noodle soup" before continuing to pass impartial judgment on the marvels of food all around. the idea of a favorite something probably never really registered in my little mind that was used to never getting her way. my mom's desire to show us the real world as children wouldn't allow it. so my favorites ended up becoming a list of things i just didn't hate.

this idea changed, though, when i began mentally exploring a tradition left with my family's ancestors.

i remember learning about dia de los muertos in the movies made and the classes i took. but one day, as i talked to my sister, we came across what food items we would lay out for our parents on their ofrendas. this inevitably turned the conversation inward so i asked her what she would put on mine and she said: white nectarines.