Juan Pablo Ixbalan left his home in the village of Santiago de Atitlán, Guatemala. He crossed the lago in a small boat, a panga.
She danced to a rhythm only she could hear. When she first started dancing nearly forty years ago, she had no wings.
My adventure began when my friend Cinda sent me a short article she’d found. It was about the Mexican folk saint Teresa Urrea.
He’d often send a real letter, but more often he’d send a poem with a note scribbled on the back.
In 1985 I left the desert for a job in Kansas City, Missouri, a city that had long been racially divided.