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Home after Home

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  Home after Home flattened by bombs or explosives, people have been displaced, shoved to and fro like cattle murdered, ten by ten, dozen by dozen, in hundreds. Little children, while they play in the streets, women as they walk to the wells, men searching for a bag of flour, all expendable, gone! But no flags fly at half mast for them no one hunts down their murderers, crying “War!” The slayers, instead, are received by officials of western ‘democracies’ while their hit men, in camouflage uniforms go house to house with long guns, grenades, drones… until all life has been extinguished. We watch hold our breaths. In the streets spattered with corpses, amidst the dust and rubble hope rises, like a miracle, a shimmering butterfly.
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My English has sharp Ts like espinas de nopal

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  How can I soften the sharp Ts in my sound? The ones I acquired at school where the teacher used to say ‘keep your accent for flirting’ When you aren’t British, or Latina, or coloured, or white, What are you? Latinos, the ones with lovely skin like dulce piloncillo call me a mongrel. People look down at me with a little mocking smile: too apasionada, drámatica, oh she’s so funny kind a’smile. Bisnieta de Andaluz, hija de madre blanquísima. Descendiente de Moros. Often I envy a los Latinos del otro lado del océano, them who aren’t separated from their roots por todo un pinche mar Atlántico, solo un muro/a wall, or a river called Rio Bravo, a torrent that vanishes in the cold of winter then emerges from the ground like a deep wound across the desert, like my tears/ my rage lying in wait behind mi sonrisa, that pounces upon some unsuspecting victim, never the apropiarte target. Mi rio está lleno de ahogados. Only when you start withering you notice your roots are drying, dying, then ...
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Sleeplessness

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                                                           T he tug, tug, tug at my ribs... I turn memories into poetry that otherwise would be  too much to bear, too sad to tell.   And the pummelling of the iron fists, the razor-sharp shrapnel blaze How will we all survive  the assault by Israel    Our personal drama is nothing if you compare   Can you hear the human howling? Can you see the blaze?
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