Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Mecca

On the tour bus to Georgia O'Keeffe's, a four-year-old left her mom to come sit by me because our outfits matched. Her: red dress, beaded necklace. Me: red romper suit, feather earrings. She held my hand on the tour, and I brushed the blonde hair out of her face.

My name's Ali, what's yours?
My name's Leigh.
That's a pretty name.

That's a sagebrush tree, I said. Go put your nose up to it.

I am a magnet to four-year-olds. I am Mecca. Does this mean I'll soon give birth to one?

I drove to Ojo Caliente. For miles there was only one radio station I could get, and even it flickered in and out. My skin is now the color of my romper suit. I ate fish tacos and chocolate peanut butter ice cream in Santa Fe, and then drove home to the casita where I am staying, where there are three goats in the yard who like to look in my bedroom window when they hear me arrive.

5 comments:

The
Eastern Cynic
said...

Wait, I'm confused. Are you doing the things in this post or is Georgia O'Keefe?

newyorkette said...

Aw. I love goats!

Sophie said...

This sounds amazing. I'm starting to get scared you're never coming back. How can New York possibly compete with Georgia O'Keefe and goats?

Michael Northrop said...

I didn't pay all that much attention in Spanish, but doesn't Ojo Caliente mean hot eye? Do the goats know about this?

ryan manning said...

hi