Guatemala

Charcoal
carrion raptors
peck out the eyes
and the tounge
Leaving bloody caves
of injustice
In the murdered face
of a weeping son

Chipped nail polish
calls out the forgotten
name of innocence
a hundred times
from dead, curled,
gnarled fingers
once gentle,

Something calls
from the silence
Some shocked, absent
violence
rolls like mist
over maternity lost
while at home,
tannin faces weep
for the blood of their daughters
bleached
of its cries by the sun