| Ciudad Juárez, Mexico In this wild city, we are bones scattered in the valley’s grave. An apron, a white tennis shoe, a face gone missing. A mother leans over the dust scattered in the valley’s grave. An apron around her waist, on her way to work. The missing. A mother leans over the dust and carves her daughter’s initials. Her name around her waist, on her way to work. The bones wait to be found; there are always bones. She prays and carves her daughter’s initials. Her name, Veronica, and the others, Esmerelda, Barbara, Brenda; our bones wait to be found; there are always bones. She prays to the gardens tethered to the field of pink crosses: Veronica, and the others, Esmerelda, Barbara, Brenda, our roses, wild poppies, fragile blooms of morning glories, to the gardens tethered to the field of pink crosses: the wooden fence marked ¡Justicia!, the desert empty of roses, wild poppies, fragile blooms of morning glories, for the women who walk home each night. The unfinished earth. Copyright @ 2014 by Amanda Auchter. Used with permission of the author. |
No comments:
Post a Comment