Crossroads

She is blinded by the light, the sword of truth, how it cuts her heart into pieces. The sea bellows a song of twilight, the moon above her as simple as a cut fingernail. Decision curves around rocks of despair. The fight is over. The winner is triumphant, the swords clattered to the ground. Of course it is blinding to realize what she must do to bring this quarrel to a conclusion. Like the second of a joust already fought, she must step away quietly. Let go of the need to make a point, make him see she is right.

You can choose happiness or drama. This dicho echoes in her head. How she loves telenovelas, the women weeping while in the background, the heroes dash off to another fight for justice. The odd characters on the periphery, comic relief. The tables set with spicy, delicious foods with bowls of chilis and limes, just like their own table, the maids flinging their aprons over their heads to wail, the mothers cursing fiercely when their children are threatened, the dashing boyfriends. But for her, it is time to let go of the drama and reach for sanity. Put down the sword. Walk away. Pay the check and say good-bye. You don't even have to explain why you're not coming back.

She curls her fist around the sodden napkin. She knows the truth is freeing her and the pain can not get any worse. But still she hesitates. Still she hopes for a reprieve. Still she wants the solution to be completely different.

She lifts the glass, afraid to meet his eyes, afraid she will no longer see a reflection of her own desire, that she will see his cynical appraisal instead of tenderness. She feels broken and betrayed. She doesn't know how they have come to this. How the sweet blossoming that made her body into a  garden has withered into a  winter of contempt. But she hasn't let go. Neither has he and she holds onto that. Whispers it to herself, trying to convince herself that it means something more than habit of need. And yet, she has reached a juncture, a turning point. Imagines Hecate, goddess of crossroads, sitting before her with a glint in her eye of warning.

She lifts the glass and he lifts his and they clink together while she intones that simple toast he taught her: Paz y amor. Dinero y tiempo para disfrutarlas. Peace and love, money and time to enjoy them. He has told her that if you don't meet the eyes of the person you are toasting, you will be celibate for seven years. Such a silly superstition, but at the last minute, she meets his eyes. Their eyes lock, the words echoing like a curse, like a blessing. Which, she could no longer say.

Elegy for Newtown

Elegy for Newtown

  —-Wendy Brown-Báez

I

this is the moment

before it

begins.

this is the moment

before.

this is the moment.

this is—

 

breathe

 

II

children. elementary school.

classroom. dead children.

these words puncture the air

when my room-mate tells me

to turn on the TV. children,

shooter, these words shriek

and pound bloody fists

 

on my heart.

 

III

cannot be, unimaginable.

assault weapon, carnage

horror, lockdown,

escape, dead dead dead

 

light a candle

 

IV

survivors at the firehouse.

parents converge, breathless, and then the

brutal wait. crime scene.

the unimaginable has happened

in the safest town of all

the safest place

 

ruined

 

V

instant news—we are glued

to the screen, CNN,

all day the unbearable

flashed in our living rooms

heart break

 

and horror

 

VI

the coverage comes to a halt as they announce there will be a

special report, a message from the president of the

United States. President Obama steps up to microphones to

 tell us what has happened.

the president, a man and a father, wipes back his tears.

I am drowning in

 

rivers of tears.

 

VII

photos scroll across the screen

parents collapsing in

anguish and I scream:

What have you done, my fellow

Americans?

allowing guns

allowing violence

allowing this nightmare

 

Wake up!

 

VIII

the names of the dead

are posted. their bodies cannot be moved,

cannot be claimed until the investigation

is completed: crime scene.

the voices of the Angels, God Himself

 

silent.

 

VIX

out-pouring of grief, memorials

spontaneously bloom,

flowers—candles—teddies—angels—

26 Christmas trees decorated with

pieces of our broken

 

hearts. We know how many

now.

X

the parents who did not lose

a child are shattered by what

could have

been.

 

 

XI

the teacher who hid her children,

protected them,  kept them calm,

weeps as she tells Diane Sawyer

“I said I love you…I wanted

my voice to be the last thing

they heard…”

 

her class survived

 

XII

sobbing through the gathering

of prayers, candlelit vigils, messages

from NYC to Oregon,

from Brazil to Germany,

united in

 

bereavement.

 

XIII

prayer vigil:

Jewish & Muslim &

Lutheran & Catholic &

Bahai & then President Obama:

Hebrew prayers, Arabic prayers:

a mournful wail, the 23^rd Psalm,

the way he says

We will not tolerate it—

 

and how we still have faith.

 

XIV

even the newscasters

seem shaken, even they

admit it is time

to go home and let

Newtown  bind up

its wounds

 

find strength to go on.

 

XV

a father speaks to the press,

says what an honor it is

to be her dad.

they said I love you before she left

for school that day,

lucky to have at

least that

 

XVI

her sisters wear her clothes,

angels pinned on green ribbons,

speaks of her dedication

to children. A life of teaching

 

gone. 

 

XVII

they arrived to school in anticipation of gingerbread house making:

      wearing cowgirl boots or

           a brand new pink dress:

                   playing an angel in the nativity:

in three minutes destroyed

by bullets ricocheting from a madman’s fury.

stunned in front of our tv sets,

we are not able to 

 

turn away.

 

 

XVIII

life is a leaf

floating

down a stream

to the sea.

 

XIX

can you hear the crackling

of my heart

into shards?

 

 

 

XX

dance of Kali, rattling skulls

around her neck as She

reminds us that life is birth

is death is destruction

is life.  we ask her

 

forgiveness.

 

XXI

because we forgot, ignored,

turned our backs

to the shadow.

the culture of violence—blowing up—video games—

fascination with death

yet denial

that it is real and leaves a

 

permanent mark.

 

XXII

this is not a country

I believe in: a run on

buying guns, a fear of

losing control

 

an addiction to fear.

 

XXIII

Awaken, arise, bury your

dead, open your eyes. the time is now

to make

 

peace.

 

XXIV

I can not imagine

Christmas in Newtown.

I can not imagine

the empty seat

at the table, the unopened gifts.

Newtown called them to her.

It was safe haven,

model school, then

chosen to be sacrificed

so we can

 

wake up.

 

XXV

Charlotte Bacon
Daniel Barden
Olivia Engel
Josephine Gay

Ana Marquez-Greene
Dylan Hockley
Madeleine  Hsu
Catherine Hubbard
Chase Kowalski
Jesse Lewis
James Mattioli  
Grace McDonnell
Emilie Parker
Jack Pinto
Noah Pozner

Caroline Previdi
Jessica Rekos
Avielle Richman
Benjamin Wheeler

Allison Wyatt

Rachel Davino

Dawn Hochsprung
Anne Marie Murphy
Lauren Rousseau

Mary Sherlach
Victoria Soto

 

XXVI

this is the moment

when it

begins.

every possibility.

wreathe of mourning

woven into

ribbons of hope.

angelic guidance while

 

the candles continue to burn.