If walls could speak I wonder what this one would say?
Would it speak of hardship, cold winters, and never enough food on the table – perhaps children in tattered clothes with noses pressed to the window not quite understanding and yet knowing there was something more to life?
It is a house that speaks to me of inequity, poverty, and a lack of opportunity – of sideways glances by those more fortunate and the upturned noses and indifference of those with more than they need and yet desire more.
It speaks of tired worn down desperate men and women who understand more than their children and in that understanding do the best they can while attempting to shield the truth from the innocence of their children.
It speaks not to the past or of the future, but the all too common present of the American reservation system where people often have neither running water or electricity.
It speaks to greed and avarice, to resource wars, wholesale slaughter, and every broken treaty ever entered into.
A monument not to a dream where all are created equal, but what became a nightmare visited upon an entire race of people.