I wrap up my brief, impromptu México City visit with a blog written in the same format as part 1. Once again, I leave feeling super humbled by all the city offers. This time around, not only did I write months of new material in a week, I also sought out moments of purposeful vulnerability. Now it’s time to leave, but I’m not ready to go. I never am.

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I never know which direction I’ll go
until the time comes to decide. If I’ve listened to my gut
I always find signs, like an Oración al Coyote, reminding me
to leave the past behind and embrace an unknown future.

Directionless, slow walking offers nonstop beauty.
A puddle might be the city’s only stillness. A cat’s game
on a plaster wall. Mobile tree vendors on siesta.
An escalator challenging my next level step.

The cathedral is sinking into sand and tombs where skulls
of sacrifice victims were kept. I photograph statues and press a penny
while others say novenas. After a while it all looks the same, so I take
photos of people taking photos.

Halloween masks and babies in cellophane bags.
Street art along San Ildefonso. The Torre Latinoamericana is a beacon
but I don’t need one. I’m drawn to a group of young people.
A rap battle. I don’t need to understand to understand.

A boy dances on the Metro air vent. On the train,
bodies press against bodies. This city
consumes art. Headless mannequins wear
colorful shirts and I can’t stop looking.

Lucha Libre at México Arena. More masks. Inside
a crowd cheers for large, faceless men who move like gymnasts.
A miniature monkey’s signature move is a diving crossbody
from the ring apron. Order one Victoria beer, get two.

Delayed from Benito Juarez but I think the pilot did it on purpose.
It’s the moment of sunrise. Popocatépetl and Iztaccihuatl
on sky fire. One spews a tiny plume, or is it a cloud?
I don’t know. I leave home, to get home.

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