I’ve decided to go back to the Encrucijada Veracruzana, not because I expect to find the visceral realists there, but to see Rosario. I’ve written a few lines for her. I talk about her eyes and the endless Mexican horizon, about abandoned churches and mirages over the roads that lead to the border. I don’t know why, but somehow I got the idea that Rosario is from Veracruz or Tabasco, possibly even Yucatán.
