Altruism runs silent and still in a trickle of blood down the gutter, into the sewer.
Justice dies in a chokehold, gasping “I can’t breathe”.
Racism rears its ugly head towards a crimson hoodie, underneath a winter moon, scattering skittles across the ground.
Corruption stands in a crowd of blue with backs turned on the people. A mayor calls for an investigation, but he is to blame.
Faith is pummeled into wet pavement with batons breaking bones over screams of surrender.
Hope. How, where, when, can I rise?
Old whitewashed adobe walls. grey and dirt streaked.
An empty dirt play yard
save a few rubber tires.
An elementary school
existing through hope, dedication
but mostly hope.
My friend remembered this place –
his community years ago.
He returned, having left part of his heart here.
Shortly, the dirty whitewashed adobe is transformed into a wall of cerulean blue,
a children’s mural.
In the courtyard now stands
a play structure built along simple lines
but with height enough to give a
a view over the courtyard walls
towards the sea – and every possibility.