To Troxell Hall

In the Rio In the Rio Grande Valley there are palm trees and tropical flowers lining the streets. There are 310 kinds of butterflies and 500 kinds of birds. Then there is pavement, cement, and cinder blocks as far as the eye can see. In the Rio Grande Valley the streets are paved and filled with cars and booming industry. Then you fight back tears and nausea as you rinse the raw sewage and dirt off your shoes. In the Rio Grande Valley there are bridges lined by begging hands that lead to rows of dentists and pharmacies. In the Rio Grande Valley you meet skeptical eyes asking the question, "Why the hell did you come here?" Then you meet eyes that don't yet know they're supposed to be skeptical. In the Rio Grande Valley you remember who you used to be, and who you used to want to be. Then you are just grateful for who you are. In the Rio Grande Valley you remember the conditions that make people who they are. In the Rio Grande Valley things aren't different, but you know they're not the same. You see billboards and stores just like from home, but they're not at all like the ones you know. In the Rio Valley you can feel the heat, the tension, the hope, the disillusionment, and the desperation rising from the ground. Then you forget about the rest of those things and just focus on the heat.