Cosas y Conceptos By PW Covington

There’s that little park
     on Adams Street in Brownsville
With the fountain and the benches
Flanked by border-hopping
Taxi stands, dive bars
     and tiendas full of ropa usada
Matamoros three blocks away
A river
A wall
     and men with guns, still
Tired and peeling, like layers of white plaster flaking off 
Colonizing brick
I am shedding something here
That I no longer need
I am still

Declaring myself at the border
Refugees and vagabonds, always arriving
Declaring customs at the line
Cosas y conceptos that cannot 
Be clearly seen from fogged up tour bus windows

I remember when army barracks became school rooms
Cavalry stalls made lecture halls
Seeds of progress fertilized by dreams and blood and deeds

When walls were repurposed as pedestals
Lifting lonely voices higher
     and freedoms danced upon acordeón winds, unbound