“Unlocking the Secrets of ‘Streams’: Marcos Reyna’s Journey Through Time and Memory”
VII. Brooklyn, 2011
After she got a job in the city, we moved into a prewar building where the subway emerged beneath our windows. That train played the snare—clack-clack, clack-clack, clack-clack—and it stole our sleep. Maybe that’s why we fought. We needed to slow down, so we moved back to New Mexico to fix a house, which happened to be near a freight yard.
VIII. Las Cruces, 2013
Freights play the timpani. Their tonnage shakes the earth. Cracks web across our freshly painted walls. We fill them with spackling but worry about the foundation. We work too much to talk enough. Eventually, we sleep in separate rooms.
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