“Pick apart the past, you’re not going back.”

Gila. Seen afar in a Baltimore dream. An eastern province bordering our fair city. A tributary cutting through its heart. A dragon roaming the desert sunset. A people whose culture outlives us all.

Gila. Pronounced \ǵē-lə\. Like so much of our modernity, an intentional misplacement. Appropriation disguised as ignorance. A wrong as a reminder. To learn and unlearn.

Gila. Nomads preserving the culture of the native tongue. Art activism through radical collectivism. Bridges built in and out of knowledge. Eternal joy.