The City that Remembers (Mexico)

The City that Remembers (Mexico)
by
Tingster & The Coyotitos

I walk alone through the thirsty dust
Where cactus guards the bones of trust
A broken road, a whispered hymn
Of gods entombed and futures dim

My shadow stretches on obsidian sands
Where ghosts still dance with calloused hands
I trace the cracks in timeworn stone
A city’s soul, not flesh nor bone

Beneath the wheels of faith and flame
The layers shift, but speak the same
The ground that trembles does not lie
It sings the truth we bury dry

The city remembers the weight of the sky
The drumbeat of ages, the tears that won’t dry
From the temples beneath to the subways that hum
It echoes: You came late—but you’re not the first one
Through clay gods and fault lines, through floods and dissent
It asks: Will you build like it matters what’s meant

A wrench in hand, a city’s vein
He walks through sparks and shaking trains
He speaks to cables like old friends
Their groans predict where fracture bends

His boots slap truth on concrete wet
Where panic coils in subway sweat
He lifts a life from shattered grace
An offering to time and place

He meets the quake with mortal breath
He knows the rhythm in the depth
History peeks through broken seams
Not buried, no—just tucked in dreams

The city remembers the tongue of the fire
The volunteers' hands, the lost and the choir
From the floating gardens to towers that weep
It hums: What you mend, I will try to keep
Not strong by stone, but by hands that persist
It asks: Will you build like you know you exist

I am the lake that you paved for pride
I am the tremor that speaks what you hide
From Tenochtitlan to your tangled grid
I hold the truths your fathers did

She said the earth has opinions
I say the city… has memory

Why do you pause, Papá, on the walk
Why do you stare like the ground will talk
He smiles and taps his boot to dust
Because it might—and it speaks with trust

He points to bricks with rebel scars
To music leaking from cantina bars
“To build,” he says, is to remember
The quake, the clay, the quiet ember

The city remembers each silent vow
Each laugh, each loss, each sacred plow
It’s not what you stack, but what you believe
That the past is a gift, not something to grieve
So build like the tremor is part of the song
And remember: forgetting is where we go wrong

He fades into heat where mirages play
A coyote shaped from smoke and clay
The city behind him murmurs deep
Not dead, not still—just wide awake sleep

A whisper in the midnight air
I am here. I was always there