Mya Estrada,Senior, Strategic Communication & Writing, El Paso, Texas
The iris and lantana in the yard
sway in the summer breeze.
The cows converse de ida y vuelta,
The doves in the trees coo.
The horses in the pasture
flick their tails.
A golden, west Texas sunset glows brilliantly on every surface.
Under the shade of the porch,
A bead of sweat races down my forehead,
as I stare off into the cotton fields
to the montañas moradas meeting the clouds
in the west.
Down the road and to the right,
the ragged and splintered screen door
on the deserted farmhouse
bangs shut with each passing gust.
Dust collected from sandstorms past
sits silent and still on the windowsill.
The bright white and newly made sign
on the old mangled wood fence reads:
NO TRESPASSING PROPERTY OF
Heavy machines and construction equipment
Flatten the already scarce grass patches in the yard.
Sounds from the past echo all around.
Bare feet thumping on the ground,
from five “little stinkers,” up to no good.
Laughter from the farmhands
taking a long break in the shade
and neighbors dropping by on their evening ride
to say, “Howdy.”
The grey heron and great egret
perch on the side of the ditch
to watch as Mom Mom Mom and Pop
slow dance on the porch,
swaying in rhythm
with the pomegranate and pecan trees.