These Dusty Paths

By Sarah

A gang of Americans roaming the streets
Of the Mexican barrios, neighborhoods
The streets are more like paths
Brown, dusty, meandering, rut-filled
No longer are these just any streets to me
I have come to love these paths

They lead us to houses
To children
Who stand in the open doorways
Two, three, four of them
Stained clothes, bare feet
Beautiful, deep brown eyes and skin

The fence keeps us at a distance
They don’t trust me
My face
My smile
My skin
My accent
My clothes
There is more than a fence that separates us

We invite them to church
To sing
To play
To listen
To create
To dance
To laugh
To eat
To be kids
It is there that they begin to trust

Their faces change
The eyes that once stared
At the strangers outside the fence
Are now crinkled with laughter
Worlds collide
If just for a day

I will continue to walk these paths
With dust-covered feet
Looking beyond the fences
To meet that unknowing look of a child
With Love