Indio
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Indio I was EI Indio, the night of the dance. Down along the border whirling, I watched her whirl to Tejano guitars, while golden, beckoning birds flew from beneath her shimmering skirt. My tequila fingers, reaching for her, trapped a bird within her hem, ripped the glimmering thread, and she looked at me as though I had torn the moonlight in half. 29 • ...
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