Why I Woke Up Having Bit through My Tongue in an Ambulance in Basque Country by Devon Hoxer

Photo by YANGHONG YU on Unsplash

Because my body was discovered in the road, rain-wet and broken. Because going to the doctor day ten of our trip to remove a bug from my ear was a thrill, but clearly not enough. Because I thought it might be a spider and was too chickenshit to drown it out. Because Northern Spain had become our place. Because you had your pintxos and I Euskara—the chef and the linguist—to each their muse. Because its alphabet is an island. Because every island is a woman is a storm. Because you wanted to select clams at the Gernika market. Because I wanted to devour a gilda every day, and because they were incomplete without beer. Because the grains of sand collected in our shoes, on the table, between the sheets. Because you tacked mesh to the window to mend the entrance. Because the ants were getting in, and deeper. Because chaos had become our place, restless and teeming. Because beer was incomplete without Fernet. Because at the time, one drink at a time wasn’t enough. Because it was our last night. Because my most fluent language was self-destruction. Because the last thing I recalled was singing with the Belgian couple, cigarettes, and spinning. Because the cobblestones had carried me too far and alone. Because I thought I was dreaming, thought I could fly, and jumped. 

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Devon Hoxer (she/her/hers) is a writer and middle school English teacher. She received her MA in English from Weber State University, and her essays and poems have been featured in the following Utah publications: Verbal Equinox, iteration, and Perspectives. She resides in Ogden, Utah with her partner and their basset hound, Gus. She can be found on social media @devonalexanderhuman