This part of the West Mesa is littered with debris. Mattresses, busted entertainment centers, discards from a fancy granite countertop remodel and bags of what I think is dog feces ironically stuffed back into the dog food bags it came in.
After the monsoon rain seems to be a good time to look for remains. Earth has been moved, areas are cleared of debris. I hope for a lucky break like Ruca back in 2009. The recent discovery about a mile from here turned out to be ancient bones, but I’m not giving up. There are six women on my list that I want to find. My compadre and I turn west along a dirt road that doesn’t have a name but has been there for decades.
The power lines crackle and buzz as we pass underneath as a last warning to us that we have entered the lawless west. The area is close to homes, but somehow feels as though you are stepping off the edge of the Earth. I’m less worried about wild animals we may encounter than I am the sound of gunshots. It’s coming from two areas. We explain it away as target practice.
About a quarter-mile in, the smell of decay enters my nose. Man’s best friend dumped next to the road. It will be a while before I can forget Fido. I consider coming back with a shovel to bury him. We turn off the trash road and look for areas of interest that I marked in maps from 2004. We spend the afternoon looking at bare patches in the vegetation and mark spots that are suspiciously soft. We poke white rocks with sticks at the edges of the small arroyos formed from the runoff as we follow what we think may be old tire tracks. Some deer bones with a traumatized little hoof still attached bake in the sun.
I stand next to the busted old TV we used as a navigational landmark while my friend inspects animal bones. A wild wind blows my hair into a tornado and I whisper, “where are you?”
-m, volunteer, Street Safe New Mexico
Women of the District 
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