Become the Road. By Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal

I remain unsteady and

I got nowhere to go

despite all the roads

and the sea where they end.

I never chased after

riches so I remain

in a place I cannot climb

out of. I love my life.

I feel weightless in

the pocket like a spider’s

web. I see the spider’s

scarlet belly and the sun.

Under a blue sky

I burst out laughing.

I want to cry, but I just

keep walking down the road.

I leave no footprint.

I leave no crumbs.

I go on traveling until

I become the road.

I do not look back.

There’s not much to see.

I won’t go back again

to track the places I’ve been.

If I wake in the morning,

that’s the place to be.

I’ll be by the bushes

and cry silently.

Have you ever heard

of a road crying? Have you

ever seen a road where

every step is a journey?

I’m a long way from home.

I’m shrouded in dust.

This land has claimed me.

At least I could rest.

Do not cry for me.

There’s nothing to cry for.

I have become the road.

I’ve taken my last step.

If you want to sing a song

about a weary wanderer,

go ahead. I have nothing

to say. I’m just the road.

You’ll become the road too

when you take your last step.

Luis was born in Mexico, lives in California, and works in the mental health 

field in Los Angeles, CA. His poems have appeared in Ariel Chart, Beatnik Cowboy,

Dope Fiend Daily, Unlikely Stories, and Zygote In My Coffee.