

Poetry by Jesus ulloa
We land in Culiacan at 15:35 and it’s hot when my cousin picks us up and he hands me a Tecate Red.
At the funeral home I hug my crying aunts and look at my uncle David’s cadaver inside a glass box before going to the parking lot to drink Tecate Reds with my uncles who aren’t dead.
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The Mermaid Ward by Mischa Jakupcak