The goddess lives in Mexico City. She animates women in dark sunglasses, shoulders squared with Bolo bags against the morning rush. She flickers in candlelight at paint-peeling churches dressed in lavish devotion to the Virgin Mary. She hangs low in Plaza de la Conception, where cannabis smoke gathers and drifts like a nomad. She waits in fertility clinics, in quiet rooms where futures are negotiated with tenderness and expert science.
