To sleep at night on the border:

beneath mosquito netting
in a house in the forest of date palms and mango trees
the windows open to the air
except for one we close in the bathroom
where we put the food to keep out the tlacuaches
who frolic through the dry palm fronds all night long
near Tapachula, just inside Mexico on the border with Guatemala.

In the morning I will drink strong black coffee
and cross the border
strung with soldiers and barbed wire
to a place I dream tonight.

Published in Gypsy Cab, 1997