The Wall

by Anita Endrezze

 

Build a wall of saguaros, 

butterflies, and bones

of those who perished 

in the desert. A wall of worn shoes,

dry water bottles, poinsettias.

Construct it of gilded or crazy house 

mirrors so some can see their true faces.

Build a wall of revolving doors 

or revolutionary abuelas.

Make it as high as the sun, strong as tequila.

Boulders of sugar skulls. Adobe or ghosts.

A Lego wall or bubble wrap.  A wall of hands

holding hands, hair braided from one woman

to another, one country to another. 

A wall made of Berlin. A wall made for tunneling.

A beautiful wall of taco trucks. 

A wall of silent stars and migratory songs.

This wall of solar panels and holy light,

panels of compressed cheetos, 

topped not by barbed wire but sprouting 

avocado seeds, those Aztec testicles.

A wall to keep Us in and Them out.

It will have faces and heartbeats.

Dreams will be terrorists. The Wall will divide

towns, homes, mountains, 

the sky that airplanes fly through

with their potential illegals.

Our wallets will be on life support 

to pay for it. Let it be built

of guacamole so we can have a bigly block party.

Mortar it with xocoatl, chocolate. Build it from coyote howls

and wild horses drumming across the plains of Texas,

from the memories 

of hummingbird warriors and healers.

Stack it thick as blood, which has mingled 

for centuries, la vida. Dig the foundation deep.

Create a 2,000 mile altar lit with votive candles

for those who have crossed over

defending freedom under spangled stars

and drape it with rebozos,

and sweet grass. 

Make it from two way windows:

the wind will interrogate us,

the rivers will judge us, for they know how to separate

and divide to become whole.

Pink Floyd will inaugurate it.

Ex- Presidente Fox will give it the middle finger salute.

Wiley Coyote will run headlong into it,

and survive long after history forgets us.

Bees will find sand-scoured holes and fill it

with honey. Heroin will cover it in blood.

But it will be a beautiful wall. A huge wall.

Remember to put a rose-strewn doorway in Nogales

where my grandmother crossed over,

pistols on her hips. Make it a gallery of graffiti art,

a refuge for tumbleweeds, 

a border of stories we already know by heart.

 

(Art by Anita Endrezze)