Sunday Morning in Calexico

by Gordy de Necochea It's Sunday Morning in Calexico. The night was long and there was song. The birds are singing and it's reverie. Don't make a sound, just look around. The rooms are empty but I feel them there. They're everywhere, voices in the air. Nana's pouring coffee into Papa's cup. His hands are strong, her hair is long. And soon enough their house will feel with joy, with little girls and little boys. It's Sunday morning in Calexico...