DROUGHT
Above our field of stunted corn and thistle,
a lone chimango circles, scouts, homes in
as sure and swift and savage as a missile,
pins down a leveret, rips away its skin,
ignores the terror-stricken eyes, the squeal,
devours the pulsing heart. His thirst now slaked,
he leaves the rest for a carancho's meal.
The land is quivering, crumbling, cracked and caked,
the stream a silent checkerboard of mud,
the well near dry. I pray this lack of water
won't leave me stony at the sight of blood,
of rational, inexorable slaughter.
(Saladillo, Argentina, 2009)
YOU ARE READING
Coming to Terms
PoetryThis is my ten-form poetry submission to the first annual ATTYS competition. All ten poems are related to the process of coming to terms with different life situations: a miscarriage, the death of a loved one in the Vietnam war; a political abductio...
