First of at least a few

Thought I'd post this as my first blog. It's late, and cutting and pasting seems simple enough a task to complete. It doesn't need much of an introduction, and if it did, it might lose some of its personal sparkle.

Cakchiquel E. Boyd Vogeler

Padre:

Thought you might like this. Reminded me a lot of you! Laughs… Looks like this kid is clueless to the FRG. His Dad (the pair of legs in the picture) woke up to work the fields at dawn. The Mayan word is something like sxka— more guttural than nasal. It’s for when the sun is just below the mountains, but not quite up yet. I think. Wish I knew.

That machete at his hip used to cut men, he said. Used to gleam bright; polished. Now it’s rusted from the roots and vines he hacks. When the army came in, he carried a gun instead of that ho. Guess he traded it in for the kid.

They look at me funny sometimes, like Why the hell are you here? It’s a good question. I’m sure by now they know I’m white.

It’s the healthiest dog I’ve seen here, by the way. It’s got all its fur, both eyes are clear, and the lice are limited. It’ll lick your hand ‘til it sees the Cheetoh’s bag. Tempting as it sounds, coffee, tortillas and Coke does not constitute a healthy diet.

Funny how those fingers are. Kid seems happy, though. Just like us, kid’s got family, and twenty years is a long time, and he’s never seen an FRG man. He doesn’t know. They’d probably kill him anyway.

Don’t know why I think of you, but I do.

Send my love,

Hijo