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