Bleak outpost.

Once there was warm fire and family here

Talk of cattle and crops and

readings from the Good Book.

The warm scents of roasting chile

and tortillas

and anised bizcochitos

filled your rooms

and work-roughened hands drew water from your well.

There was sharing here.

A child was conceived

and born

and raised

and taught

and wed within your walls

And a viejo died.

You witnessed all, but now you are

silent

abandoned and alone.

Lin Chavez