Sunday, July 15, 2012

What stories did Nana Lynch read you
of Galway tales and
leaving lands
that blood in your veins that knew the wrongs that needed righting
that blood in your veins that sprang from a flame of red hair and a fight against famine and rule from many years before

I wonder if Eva Peron understood the sneer when you wrote and asked for a jeep
before setting out across that continent of inequality
did she even hold that letter herself, or was it read to her as she had another manicure of invisible blood and misplaced pride

When friends lay dead and Cuba was reborn
how long did the moment burn as you picked up the ammunition
leaving your physician's case behind
knowing the wounds that would have to be opened
within and without

What screams of pain did you shower into the unrelenting Congo night
when the news came of your mother's death
disallowed to enter the hospital
because you were her son
the son that gazed upon a sorrowful African earth and weeped with the canopy that covered your fire

Oh the songs you must have sang in Limerick as they welcomed you with sprigs
and Quinlan captured your thoughts in the airport bay
enroute to your last story with Fidel
and disillusioned with the new power you would leave
struggle to breathe in a Bolivian jungle
that fight for breath being the one fight you'd had all your life
and so few comrades came to help you
their eyes saw a Russian supremacy which wouldn't care for your ideals

Barrientos asked for your head on a spike in downtown La Paz
but it was America that got your hands
What Neruda did you last read
before they shot you in the heart
before they stole your grandmother's watch
before they concreted your dismembered body under the airstrip
and sent out the press release

your amputated hands; shelved as a trophy in the offices of the CIA

No comments:

Post a Comment