It’s a dream and I am running.

by Joaquín Gavilano

---

No. I am driving 
away, 12,000 ft above 

sea level. City named “peace”— 
cruel joke from its founding fathers.
I try to wake up but now I’m driving. Honk the horn 

at the old lady who parked 
her car in the middle 
of the road to buy candy. And then,

I’m no longer driving.

Kid is driving. ¿A donde?
Home, I reply. But she tells me we can’t. 
Blockades again? I ask.

Kid nods. I know a shortcut, confía en mi. 
First gear engaged, steep hill ahead. 
At the top, a blazing ball of fire. 

Is that…
El sol. He interrupts. Es Inti
Second gear, third gear. 

Pointless now, there is no floor. 
Fourth gear, fifth gear.

We’re in space heading towards the sun.
Inti envelop us. We vanish. 

---

Joaquín Gavilano is a Bolivian writer and MFA in Creative Writing and Translation at the University of Arkansas focusing on Translation where he received the Carolyn F. Walton fellowship for translators. Born and raised in a bilingual environment in Bolivia, Joaquín has always had a fascination for linguistics and etymology.