for dad
I have a gun and could use it
to end my suffering
spare others the trouble
of having to care and then
if in the past, I am also gone
then those no-named,
with our people's faces
those humans
those hundreds, no, more
did not perish on that
icy cold Korean ground
covered in white clouds
from the big guns
put in my hands
murdered and for what
there was no glory in being
a minimum wage gun for hire
my rage at what I did
lasted a lifetime
though I tried to drown it
in alcohol
like my father before me
unlike him, I was always pulled
from the drink at the last minute
liquid claws weren't strong enough
to keep me under, though now
a lure of those voices in
the loss of air and anesthesia
got me in touch with all their souls
who wanted me with them
© Odilia Galván Rodríguez, 2007
The Yucatan Penninsula
No comments:
Post a Comment