I tagged along with Fer and Carlos to photograph their paragliding group in the pueblito Rinconada, west of Monterrey. Every launch held some suspense, and the Argentinian named Diego flipped up high and lost his helmet with a GoPro. I counted the seconds as the helmet dropped: almost twenty.
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The Fiercest Worrier
When I saw her, her face opined a view on the world,
As if on waking,
Was printed every morning at four am with lines of tiredness,
Blackened by the raise of a son.
At five, I see her stand on display,
Waiting for the commute train,
Her single headline furrowed
Above a flaring column from her temple,
At noon, the Business Section sniffs
The good taco stand gazpacho.
Dusk, the Obituary section crumples up
And soaks in relief in a hot pool of tears.
Ink runs south to her family in Mexico City
On two familiar railroad tracks across the bronze hilly desert.