From a Mexican Archive

Simon Carnell

A downtown storefront window containing only a single giant plastic ear.

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In a San Ángel garden: the four-inch-long orange potato bug called face of a child.

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Ancient evil in a 400-year-old wall? Its nest of black widows.

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Still standing in a busy street: a ’quake-damaged high-rise abandoned in eighty-five.

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Woven from lake-grown reeds at Tzintzuntzan: grasshoppers, bulls, turtles, scorpions.

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The cryptic spiral on a pyramid stone, and high in a baroque church on a reused one.

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Rough-hewn planks of cedar flooring that gives. A church at noon, fragrance of cedar.

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Underground, Mexico DF: from Zapata to Indios Verdes via Etiopía, Juárez, Hidalgo.

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Colibrís the size of field-mice hovering to sip from fuchsia flowers as big as pine-cones.

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At Chapultepec a stone chapulín; on Insurgentes table-top dancing at Caligula’s.

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Sawdust on a library floor; a gory mural by Juan O’Gorman; children in pews.

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A painted constellation of archangels at Tupátaro, survivors of the Cristero war.

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In museum pieces (and sometimes on a leash): the hairless edible dogs of Colima.

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The engine cut above DF on a night flight: a carpet of lights stretching to every horizon.