We had stopped at the farmhouse
Trying to get some drinking water
Our truck had cut off
Then we walked
It was a hot summer day
We came up to the porch
As the dog began to bark
A middle aged white woman
Peered out the door
“What you want”? She yelled
Could we have some water, please?
She pointed to the water hose
Connected to the windmill
We quickly drank and left
My dad thanking the woman
For the drink
But she said nothing,
Slamming the door
That was the first time
I saw distrust and hate
I was very young but I felt
The tone and words cut deep
The wound that separated us
From them festered
A sense of confusion
Settled in my mind
Deep inside my heart
I felt sorry for Dad
Why had she spoken
In that disgusted tone
Why was she so mean?
We wanted water
And though we got it
It somehow didn’t quench
My thirst at all
The pit of my stomach churned
I was nauseated and felt sick
My dad walked in silence
Exchanging few words
Not one mention of
What had  occurred
A neighbor happened by
Helped start the truck
We left the farmhouse
Far behind but,
The sick feeling
Stayed with me for many years
It is still there just on the verge
Of spilling over at the slightest
Notion of ill will,
Insulting language,
Or violent actions
Against my people
Each time I see
The  water spew
From the water hose
I remember Dad
How he must have felt
Then I think ,  he was a far better Human Being
Than those that pretend to be

© Juanita Garcia Vera
All Rights Reserved JGV 2015

Racism exists without doubt
While blatant language
Is subdued
One can feel the tension
Cut like a knife
When entering
Some towns in Texas
And across parts
Of the South
One must be careful
Not to stop over
In these small
Mostly white towns
That is if you are not
The right color,
If you are not white
Some people
Don’t like
Mexicans, blacks or
Anyone other than white
A black man from one of
These towns
Was tied to the tailgate
Of a pickup truck
And dragged down
The country road
Until only pieces remained
The good old boys
That did that
Are serving time
These small towns
Have a history
Of violent racist behavior
The law and residents
Cover up a lot
I don’t go
To the snake’s pit
I don’t go
Where I am not wanted
Time has changed nothing
White race rules
In the backwoods of Texas
And places of the old South
They live and breed hatred
Waving the flag of supremacy
I wonder if  Jesus  is White ?
I think He is
A rainbow
All the colors
Under the Sun
I am, a prism
Beaming with light
Shinning brightly
In HIS love

© Juanita Garcia Vera
All Rights Reserved…   JGV 2016

“Those that fail to learn from history, are doomed to repeat it”  Winston Churchill

I solemnly stood studying
The expansive site
 Row after row
Lined the open field
Thousands perhaps millions
Were hoarded like livestock
Marked for extermination
Images flooded my conscious
Their  bodies   frail, pale
Dark sunken eyes
Vacant stares shed little hope
Some were mere shadows
That drifted into darkness
Many held hope
Day after day
Most succumbed to illness,
Suicide, starvation and genocide

The  will  to survive is innate
Even as hope wanes
In the shadow of uncertainty
Hope lives where light shines
It allows us to harbor dreams
Most dear
To endure all
To laugh and live
Once more
Even though it is but in dreams
Even as death lingers all around
One holds on
To the smallest glimmer of hope
Egos, pride and materialism
Fall short in life’s plan
A memory of the past
Blows in the wind
Where they haunt me still
So many walked here
Like a breeze
That quietly touched
My soul

In the consciousness
Of good intentions
Hope died
In the eyes of
A frozen sullen statue
That saw it all
The crematorium,
The gas chamber,
The barbed wire fences
My heart ached for those
Lost souls
That died waiting
True evil lives in the hearts
And minds of many
While others blindly follow
Without thought of actions
One man’s dream
Another’s   nightmare
And millions fell into
The spell and whim
Of a mad man

I feel the evil
That lurked here
The evil that lives
In all of us
To allow this
To go on for so long
While we saw and knew
Yet did nothing
I picked up a small stone
Sensing part of them lingered here
Holding it close to my heart
I prayed for all that passed here
I openly wept
Noting silent cries
Around me
While tears fell on
The killing Fields
Inspired by my journey to Dachau, Germany
Juanita Garcia Vera
All Rights Reserved 2003

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