Driving
	across big open space
	ritualistic return
	to exhume
	memories of my death house
Albuquerque
	hot, dry heat of summer
	beats down on my skin
	the dying hope of keeping
deathly white complexion
It is midday
	I am walking 
	pregnant and sick
	with my husband
We stop many times
	I think I am going to die
I sit down
	my feet sunk in sandy dust
	my bloated belly threatening to heave
	my head spinning and hot
Smells so crisp
	frying fat
	sweat dripping
	people slowly dying
	and it makes me 
				vomit.
I lay sweating on the bed
	in the dark
		crying
	I miss my home
It is not here 
	with this tall blond man-child
His name is not Charon 
	but he has ferried me
	to my death house.
I lie there
		three weeks
	in the dark
numb and tired
	I died.