The Coyote Who Was Once a Dragon
A rugged coyote wandered close by the oceanside communities. Tired, it sat beneath a palm tree and took a nap. It dreamed of its former life as a medieval dragon. It had conquered many rustic lands as a fierce dragon. Now, the lonesome coyote hardly ever sang anymore. Most of the city slickers didn’t realize the coyote could sing romantic Spanish ballads. But it hadn’t sung a romantic song since it lost its beloved coyote partner. The coyote’s partner passed away during a treacherous earthquake that shook the world like a piñata. For now, the coyote slept peacefully beneath the mangy palm tree. The waves in the distance sounded like a familiar lullaby.
José Emilio Pacheco’s Ghost and the Flying Jaguar
I was at a hidden local beach in Southern California away from the tourist traps of Santa Monica and Huntington Beach. The sun was shining but it wasn’t overwhelming; it was still early in the morning. That’s when I saw a flying jaguar in the late spring sky. It approached the sand and landed a few feet away from me. I was in shock. I forgot to mention that riding the flying jaguar was none other than José Emilio Pacheco’s ghost. Had I accidentally taken hallucinogenic drugs? No, I mean, I had Starbucks for breakfast, but everything was checking out as normal. Pacheco descended from the winged jaguar and asked my name. “My name is Jose Hernandez Diaz,” I mumbled. “Are you from around here?” he continued. “Yes, I am. I’m from Southeast Los Angeles. I used to be from Orange County. . . . The real question is what are you doing on a flying jaguar? You died years ago,” I said. “I’ve come to remind you to read more Spanish-language poetry,” he said. “You’ll grow to love it just as much as your first language.” “Technically, Spanish is my first language,” I said, “I learned it alongside English from my parents as a young boy but quickly switched to English because it was easier. You make a good point about me speaking more Spanish, Señor Pacheco,” I said. “I promise to work on it.” But just as I said this, Pacheco and the flying jaguar disappeared. I grabbed my longboard and headed to my car. I left the beach and went to the library to check out Pacheco’s books, bilingual editions.
Domesticated Beasts
I was in a cheerful mood, so I went to the zoo at the edge of the city. I laughed at a comic book with the idyllic zebras. I slow-danced to Chopin with the lavish gorillas. I sang a Spanish ballad to the stylish flamingos. At the end of the visit, I took a much-needed nap by the tortoise enclosure. When I woke up, there was a baby tortoise crawling along my back. I gently placed the young tortoise back into the enclosure. As I left the zoo and walked to the bus stop, I remembered tomorrow would be my thirty-eighth birthday. A perfect place to spend it, I thought, the zoo, with similarly domesticated beasts.
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