Walls in Texas

There is a home in a field in Texas,

with history embedded,

in the walls,

their ears perfectly define,

the sounds of serendipity;

and voraciously consume,

the fruit of vicissitude;

their ears have memory.

1861

Shouting of war cries,

sons ready to bleed against the North,

while those with a darker complexion,

cry freedom. 

1941

The drip of a mother's tears,

A father's hate bellowing,

"Tear those Japs apart,"

even the ones at home.

1967

Rumblings of the poor,

their words not uttered in English,

they speak Chicanismo, El Movimiento, 

a history schools neglect. 

2016

Echoes of gunfire,

pierce the inside from out, 

the news blares on,

dividing blue and black. 

If they could speak,

on their wisdom,

forged by the mutterings of generations, 

we would not like what they would say:

"Nothing has changed." 

Maybe it would not be so crazy,

to talk to a wall.