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.