In the fresh spring of childhood, I was constantly at war with the mundane: school, the lunch counter at the Rexall Drug Store, bedtimes, filthy bathrooms in downtown buildings where my parents sometimes went shopping on weekends. On the other hand, mornings shopping with my parents at the city market or the Del Real supermarket in Cd. Juarez, or a visit to my Great Aunt Lupe who lived there in her minuscule home, where she served us pear and mango nectar from little cans, always filled my world with sunlight and color. Mexico seemed youthful, animate, full of vitality and brightness. My mother told us stories that her mother had told her—legends full of historical figures that her parents had actually known, or of disobedient children who met the devil in person under a variety of circumstances. Mexico, always so close at hand—we lived right across the river in El Paso, Texas—was a world apart, a place overflowing with sights and smells and sounds that filled the imagination.
322 Review publishes provocative emerging and established artists. Conceived and operated by former Rowan University graduate students of the Master of Arts in Writing Program, 322 Review is aggressively seeking the best fiction, creative nonfiction, poetry, and mixed media works of visual art.
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