A golden shovel after Rosario Castellanos

For the first time since the wall fell down, we

allowed ourselves to laugh. We had to have

our giggles and chuckles placed in amber in order to

ensure they wouldn’t break down the cement. I laugh

when I see the bricks fell into the shape of a toy robot. Because

it looked like the one I had before I lost it on a bus. My laughter

made the robot whir, calling us to gather around it. We

charged its batteries with energy from our pointer fingers, already

knowing how charged others got when they stare them down. I knew

the robot would start to stack the bricks again, for doing so is

its only role. But to our surprise, we all watch as the

robot instead pulled itself apart and reshaped into the first

marigold we’d seen in years. We stopped laughing at the evidence

of what laid beyond the wall, then we started the task of

clearing the bricks in hopes we’d see more grow in this new freedom.