I’m writing you from days after 7.1 brought down the school brought down apartment blocks brought down the whole pueblo at the epicenter and you wrote I hope you can be ok. Days after the stormwaters broke the cup of your city and poured poured poured into every low place and high and I wrote I hope you’re weathering it. You’ve brought your students down to learn the city’s structures. I’m following your tour of my (not my) city, your tour where nothing is watery nothing broken, where Candela’s curving concrete swerves up through glass intact, those only dreamed of shapes until he found the mano de obra in Mexico with the wit to build it. From church to market to metro station to cosmic rays the concrete arcs rise and return as intended.
disaster box