Tuesday, January 26, 2010

Migration Toward Salvation

LaBarrita, Mexico

It's a trap, Guerrimo Garcia treads water. It's a backward progression for every wave is a denial a push toward the backwater. It's not even water when he looks down all around him he can't even seen his own hands, futility in waves. Slapping the hard surface resists his efforts and he becomes languid and furious. Kicking harder pushing the hair from his eyes that cannot see anyway with or without hair in them. It's dark, void of city phosphor. There is a smell that shifts around him. City sewers fill the bay like a water that falls up from hell and empties into his mouth. Spitting and breathing, a fire in a rain storm. "The fucking coast guards!" It's not his voice it's a man that says he is Guerrimo's cousin, they are all cousins they are all brothers with same names and same stories. In it together. The cousin or brother starts to whisper a prayer. A deep breath dive. Guerrimo does what brothers or cousins do they take a deep breath and dive too. It's a sound like violins underwater a slow motor searching sea craft.

Tver, Russia

It's a struggle, Anna Petrovska treads snow. She knows someone misses her somewhere. Her feet are numb in torn lace stockings. A curtain wrapped around her sore body. She feels toward home ambulatory yet unconscious. The trees are painfully effulgent ahead. Her stomach festers with guilt beguiling boys and throbbing adolescence. As she nears the bright clearing people are shouting and waving at her but she doesn't know whether to run toward or away from them.In her confusion she sits and waits for them to decide for her.

Rwanda, Africa

It's a race, Dajan is a dark cloud in a rain storm. He is making his way toward a refugee camp stealthy as his father has begot him, Dajan a dark cloud in a rain storm. He is not alone his baby muffled to his wife's back and wrapped up like luggage. A struggle stains his hands and his face is caked with mud. Pressing his worn feet into the mud he smiles as the mud squishes between his toes and tickles. No one else for miles is smiling when it's dark and you are in a race toward salvation and away from slings and arrows that whistle past your ears like stars that don't belong so far from heaven.

*All stories and names are fictional and are based on a limited knowledge of each characters country of origin.

No comments: