By Paul Ross
La Villita, NM
September 4, 2017
4 September – As suggested, we kept the word “altar” in mind, tending on hand and knee to Ron’s crop of beans. It sure was fitting, and I wonder whether I would have thought of that word without the suggestion.
I should have taken pictures of my hands.
Or handprints… or something.
If you didn’t see them, they were caked in dirt and bug juices.
Water and sweats and probably some hummus.
But there was something about how it was on there that worked excellently as a reminder of where those hands had just been, and the maneuvers they had just pulled, and the prints they had just left.
There was to sit amongst the long and careful folds of a masterful paper airplane. Water folded unto soil folded unto hands folded unto time. Each piece is both paper and crease-maker.
And there was something in the nonchalance of it all that brought the feeling of wellbeing I had walking home from school in the sixth grade
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