Reality/ Illusion

12 noon and my husband had made mole that savory melange of spices saturating chicken, fried rice. But one taste only and I knew it had turned out perfect... Still, the plates were left on the table the food would grow cold... For a sound, muted, a soft " pop," "pop," " pop" interrupted our lunch. It was like firecrackers at a distance- although this wasn't the 5th of May not September 16th- Independence Day. Living in Juarez one becomes wary fears, suspicions develop and soon the whir of helicopter blades, the wail of sirens screaming confirmed reality gunshots, something serious. You went to investigate I stayed in the house - safe? Later we warmed the meal, ate and you told of 6 bodies strewn on the street 5 federales, one of them a woman, all young and a bystander... Days passed and at our familiar bus stop I saw blood stains still, across the street sniffed at by strays and red ribbons of police tape flapping in the breeze... My family far to the north doesn't believe me they think I exagerrate they just can't comprehend, though I've thought to send clippings of the daily murders, of the tortured, the decapitated of car bombings... But I won't ( they're both elderly) so I will leave them in their comfortable complacency with their sanitized version of Mexico of picture postcard sparkling beaches their recordings of " cu cu cucuru" and Herb Alpert and his Tijuana Brass their sugary sweet Mexican wedding cookies while others gag on the bitterness of horror- this terror, this war.