I was sitting on a raggedy picnic table looking up at the fence between Mexico and California. Towards the top of the fence, there was a painting of a man holding a balloon with one hand, holding his wife’s hand with the other, and the children floating behind them. That image was copied over and over as far as I could see. It captured what many people at this fence must feel. The desire to fly.
Because the sky doesn’t have any borders.
We were in Friendship Park in Tijuana, a place where there is a fence instead of a wall so that people on both sides of the border can come to see each other.
Patches of the one you love through tiny holes is better than nothing, I guess.
I was on the Mexican side. Just a few stamps and a look at my pale complexion got me here…
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