I dream about the south face of the wall. In I see a young Diego Rivera
With Frida Kahlo, pallets dripping rainbow colors; they paint.
He proud people and history, brown farmers, workers, warriors, temples, leaders.
She, people, watermelons, self-portraits in bright native dress or naked, her soul.
Expressing her pain, her optimism, life’s tragedies, divine hope.
/ – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – / – /
I see the wall’s north side while fully awake. Stacks of crumbling bricks,
drab grays of ice and hate. A dark shadowy silhouette, an outline of fear
forged by desire to preserve an idyllic time that is only imagined.
A stark blank surface, blocking light but sending its message, “Be afraid!”