Red Rock Canyon
by Guilliean Pacheco
published in our former blog series, Friday Night Specials
The Joshua trees are brown now, the color of the grains of sand that rise up to meet their fibrous skeletons. The paint had long ago evaporated from the husk of the car, leaving behind its metal frame in reticent testimony to God. She hauled the memories of that ominous night on her back through the births of her seven children, the last time she saw the ocean for the first time, the death of her favorite pitbull. It’s a Sisyphean task to remember anymore, as she squinted through the burnish of Vegas that slipped through the slant in her eyes. No else is left to remember.