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12 July, 01:40

I don't understand this poem, and I read it about 5 times.

Making a fist For the first time, on the road north of Tampico I felt the life sliding out of me a drum in the desert, harder and harder to hear I was seven, I lay in the car watching palm trees swirl a sickening pattern past the glass My stomach was a melon split wide inside my skin How do you know if you are going to die?" I begged my mother We had been traveling for days With strange confidence she answered "When you can no longer make a fist." Years later I smile to think of that journey the borders we must cross separatley, stamped with our umaswerable woes I who did not die, who am still living, still lying in the backseat behind all my questions

clenching and opening one small hand.

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  1. 12 July, 02:01
    0
    Firstly, I think you may have written a word wrong "umaswerable", and I'd like to know what word actually should be there? Secondly, I'm not that familiar with that part of the world (Mexico), but from the poem I would say they were on the run (trying to flee their country) or just were living in the car, because they didn't have enough money. Both could be true, the first one at the beginning and the second one after. The boy clearly suffered some sort of trauma (at age 7) and may even have lost a hand ("one small hand") and they have had a rough time since ("umasw ... woes").
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