The Ciudad Juarez Side of Sunrise

Yvette A. Schnoeker-Shorb

This corridor between

the ranges is strange. 

I watch those shadowy

craggy mountains

behind the iridescent,

glistening lights,

a city shimmering

beyond the forbidden

boundary breaking

migration—insects,

jaguars, humans—

where a black snake

follows the highway,

unwinding, unfolding,

oblivious to emerging

sand storms or sunrise.

Light from the east

greets shared land,

revealing rusty, dusty,

industrial buildings

diminishing the sparkle

of distance. I still desire

those jagged, gold

hills rising from where

I would need a passport

that I don’t have;

they should be mine
and would go so nicely

with our southwest

desert red peaks

quietly settled on

my side of the fence.




Nonfiction
Poetry
Fiction