remember when the war started, this war without end?
I entered our invasion with Lorca as my constant companion

as though crossing the territory of an other language were a means
of preservation and resistance

he knows so much about terrible things, casual damage
sudden brutality

and a dense radiant joy at the base of lemon trees
that glistens and does not fail us

all around me Lorca’s words: sombra, torre, robles
the places where I walk: garzas, higuera creek, palo colorado

can it be 1936? is a poet being tortured today?
is it our government rending, doing the renditions?

justice, postponed
only increases in necessity, burns 

like an immense sun, weapons useless 
against its unyielding 

unbearable, unbreakable
mercy

Meredith Stricker | My Paradise Is A Field >>
Contents | Mudlark No. 54  (2014)