If I were to write a poem about you,
my haunted Spanish artista,
I wonder what it would look like.

Can words on a paper
simple lines and colorless letters
sum up what I feel when
I see you fears?

The war. A war I cannot imagine,
young and innocent as I am.

Would the words be jarring,
a handful of stinging bullets,
LOUD and TOXIC,
bombs and sirens and screams?

Would they be sloooow and sluuured,
blood seeping into the streets,
or the last rattling breath
of a dying man?

Or would they be quiet?
The quiet would be worst, I think
an aftershock of loss and pain,
salty tears whispering down
the cheeks of mothers holding still children,
prayers murmured into the night.

Mi Dios
Ayudame
*Por favor