arleywriter

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When He Slit My Throat ...

Posted by arley sanchez on May 23, 2011 at 6:55 PM

When he slit my throat, my life

bubbled away in blood

seeping into dirt, releasing

my soul, bringing me back

to this morning when my brother

came home with blood on his shirt

not his own, and when I asked,

no answer.

In the quiet dark morning, explosions

blinded and deafened me, nightmares flash

in the dark, illuminating faces of hate

I didn't recognize, my sister rocks

on the toiler seat, another mixes

chemicals from under the sink

to throw in their eyes.

My mother kneels and begs for our lives,

my brother bursts into the room,

blasting a shotgun, explosive thunder

and fire, spent shells rolling on the floor,

a sound of death pounds against my chest

and head, until at last I hear just a click, click click,

and smoke curls around my brother's smile,

as he tosses the gun away and waves

at me one last time,

until I joined him for the journey

on that smoky blood night of fear

and death, I chased him struggling

to catch up to his long legged gait,

like when he was my big brother

and I was a little boy, always

a few steps behind.

At the top of the hill spotted

with petroglyphs and a trinity of crosses,

we sat on the rocks like brothers

beneath the Holy Trinity,

rosaries clapping in the wind

on a shrine with candles

blown out by the wind,

and watched our blood

boil into the ground,

becoming a part of the mountain, forever.

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