The new play, honoring migrants who died in the desert and documenting the activism keeping their memory alive, premiers this week at the “Wishing Shrine.”
At What s Left Of Mohawk Station, Even The Ghosts Are At Rest.
By Kevin Franklin
A MORE PERFECT moment I cannot imagine. The early morning
light is fading from purple to orange as the sun begins to rise.
From my vantage point in a wash of clean, white, granite sand
at the foot of the Mohawk Mountains, I can see across the San
Cristobal Valley to the east. Brittle bush sprouting golden flowers
line the wash and a grove of lush ironwood trees surround me.
A distant wren is greeting the sunrise. I have a sense of absolute
peace. However, if I could turn the clock back 122 years, this place