Crossing the Invisible Line

Headlights aimed in the wrong direction;
a storm passes to the west,
but we don’t notice

This café’s odor is disinfectant;
secrets of patrons lay hidden
in napkins, we place our orders efficiently

A convenience store on every
corner, as a cat’s scratch ruins this rural scene;
tacos, quesadillas and Herbalife —
survival’s dank sigh…

Examining the veins in my wrist,
heart’s tributaries,
my blood flows between here
and before

You fidget with a cigarette,
pretending  calm, speaking Spanish
to the waitress as the food arrives,
on this tattooed morning
under Mexican skies.


— Pamela Sayers


An artist by profession, Pamela Sayers poetry is in part inspired by Mexico. Now living in Puebla, the former New Yorker teaches English while absorbing the local culture. Crossing the Invisible Line first appeared on wordsandthoughtspjs and appears here with the author's permission.