Border Life | Fronteras

El Paso del Norte

La Equis

Subsequent visits to El Paso led me to drive down towards the Chamisal, to the border highway that takes me closer to La Equis.

These are the first words that come to mind as I take in this view:

The border is a rusted hinge that does not bend.
The border is the blood clot in the river’s vein.
The border says stop to the wind, but the wind speaks another language, and keeps going.
The border is a brand, the “Double-X” of barbed wire scarred into the skin of so many.
The border was once a welcome stopping place but is now a stop sign, always red.

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