I learn one thing:
death is no longer
remote. It happens
to people that I love.
An aunt collapses
with a thud.
Her heart gives out
like a battered fighter.
An uncles's life
drains out
like the light of this day.
Something like the feet
of mice
scuttles in the dark corridors
of my cousin's throat.
Bodies crumble.
The earthworm's appetite . . .
Only the earth does not suffer.
Today, as death came
and sat by my side
questions poured out
from the eyes of my dead
like so many snowflakes.
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Comments
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I like the word usage Trejo uses. I've been using similar lately, such as the line 'scuttles in the dark corridors of my cousin's throat' I like that, the metaphorical notation of that just screams to me.
This moves well in its enjambments, I think enjambments are Trejo's strong suit. A good piece that he has written here.
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