Death, for Killing's Sake

I never knew my Papa, but
I can remember fuschia flowers.
Here, in this courtyard.
Now they're covered
with rocks and mortar.

I push broken stone
with my foot.

Mama' used to say
there were bougainvillea.
here forever.
They would be here forever.
That was before she left.

The stones at my feet
gather together
with the force from my toes.

She stopped bringing
extra water for the vines
when I was four.
At least that's when
Paulo died, they told me.

That's when she stopped -
when Paulo was shot.
Sirena and I brought it
for awhile.

Until I was eight 
and my mother and I
watched while Rosa
was killed.
They blew her up
while she was walking
to school.

We saw her fly apart -
a mistake they said.
She shouldn't have been
walking
down the street
by the house
on her way
to school.

Mama' sat on the floor
and quietly pulled out her hair.
I tried to put it back
but Sirena stopped me.

The next time the soldiers
came to our neighborhood
Mama' stood
and screamed to be killed.

The next time,
she ran at their tanks.
The next,
she beat at the jeeps
with her fists
and they shoved her away.

The little stones
are making a mountain
by my dusty feet.

After awhile she quit.
She didn't go back
to chasing the soldiers,
to taking care of us,
to finding food
or cooking.

Sirena and I did that
and the vines withered.

But one night,
we found a melon
in the garbage
through, on the other side
of the big fence.

I shoved it in my bag.
Sirena and I ran
through the hole,
but Sirena hit the fence
or I hit the fence
and the siren went off
and the lights went bright
and we ran
and the bullets
hit the walls around us
and we thought
we wouldn't make it home
and we flew around the corner
and a bomb
whumped out of the air
and hit the wall
in front of me -
the wall by Sirena
the wall in front
of the courtyard
with the withered vine
and Mama' sleeping
in the cool of the night.

The exploding dust and flash
knocked me back and I hit my head.
When I got up
everything was quiet.
People were talking-
their mouths were moving,
but there was no sound.

My hands were covered with blood.

I didn't know where I was,
the wall was gone.
The explosion had covered
the wall's collapse
and Sirena and Mama's deaths
and made a grave for them.
It's decorated with pieces
of the withered bougainvillea vine.

I stared at 
the mountain of stones
in front of my feet.
Somtimes I don't like to think.

I stomped it hard
and kicked the stones away.

Tomorrow,
I will wear the harness
and carry the bomb
to the little mall.

Tomorrow,
I will let them miss someone.

I will make them wish
I had died
with Mama' and Sirena
like I have
for years.

Kathleen Hover
05-26-02