Poem: Washed by Rain

written for a contest about war

el sol llora para nosotros esta tarde

[the sun weeps for us this afternoon]

 

and all the laundresses in the land could haul these muddied shirts

     up to the washing place, and scrub them on the rocks until their knuckles bleed

         yet still not remove those stains we put on them today.

 

a blouse, just the width of a man’s spread fingers, palm flat, as if to strike a blow,

     the blow we do not dare turn on the ones holding rifles

                  to our machete wielding forms and figures.

 

Figures, then, silhouetted in flames, and another blouse, split up the front, in slices

         newly embroidered with a fresh application of fine scarlet along the jagged seam,

                       its owner’s unborn prize taken as a token of our passing.

 

Dios nos perdona manana, por lo que hicimos hoy

[God forgive us tomorrow for what we did today]

 

I wrap these images and sounds and places now in silence so deep

         three generations will not make me speak, ever, of the burning chapel smell

                   because the mind slips sideways when a man beholds the crookedness.

 

I learned today a knife carves arms like cornstalks, splits abdominals like a gourd skin

     into this, the land of maize and trees, were we led by los locuras-

        as men asked to do murderers's deeds, for our state long after it abandoned us-

 

and I keep a remnant of a charred anciano’s shirt, solely for remembrance

       that you never know what you can do until demanded by a uniformed soldado           

            holding a torch to your home and a knife to her throat.

 

Their work here is done, and the ashes settle into the afternoon sky

          soon the seasonal evening rains will wash the hallowed ground clean

               because when survival is tantamount, you no longer care that your side is right.

 

solo cuida lo que permita que exista un otro dia.

[you only care for what lets you exist another day]

 

I will ask my wife to take these pants to the laundry stone to fade the stains-

    and pray they never think that we support the guerilla here, but will tell my children

            about the place I know they can run to, just in case.

 

There is now a field of loose dirt in what used to be the neighbor’s town

          and there are probably none who will ever think to look there, again-

               for any trace of the living.

　

Author's Note

Published in the University of Connecticut human rights journal "Namaste" 2010 edition.

written for CHL's war contest- a perspective of a soldier fighting in battle.

I chose the Guatemalan civil war, during the time period where 626 Indian villages were wiped out in the 1980's by state sponsored scorched earth and genocide campaigns. Soldiers- trained, funded, and backed by the US government- took villagers at gunpoint and conscripted them as "workers" in the fight against the elusive guerilla army, purportedly hiding in the hghlands. Any villages suspected of aiding the guerilla were burned to the ground, and the citizens massacred in notably brutal fashion. I tried to write from the perspective a conscripted villager called upon to murder his neighbors. Today, the brutality of 20 years ago is marked most profundly by the refusals of anyone to talk about what was done. The survivors are the people I work with.

Reviews

[cest la vie]

Stunning, Marie..
I knew before I read this I would walk away a different person.
All of the others have stolen my words, but I will add that the horrors of war should never be hidden. It needs to be flashed in our face 24x7. I say that for the purpose of never letting us forget or get complacent. Then perhaps, this madness will cease..

Wonderful poem...simply wonderful

[AtticusBlack]

I like the use of spanish throughout the poem, it's effective. A really perceptive take on a soldier's experience, and very worthy for CHL's war contest Marie ;)

[An owl on the moon]

This is simply brilliant... Your words paint haunting glimpses of war... the pain so personal... not of some distant place... you bring it here before us... So powerfully spoken.

[Cool Handless Luke]

Sorry for the long delay in reviewing. Put it off until after the contest and then the world went south. Obviously something very deep and very difficult to write. I recognize the pains in getting into a frame of mind that is hard to grasp and make your own for the effect of the piece. Very well done. It was a hard decision on the voting and this one could have easily won if not for one piece that just really hit me. Thanks for writing and submitting! Stay Golden

[Christopher Todd Dallas]

Until S10, I thought the protagonist was a woman. Not that that matters because this is an incredible find.
The structure, method, pace, harmonious words, consistency and occasional use of Spanish (although any language would work using this method) worked towards creating a superb monologue.
I can see that it's the content that has helped you write so passionately.
At any point in the future, when you feel this stream-of-conscious take you, STOP and write it on whatever you can find; chalk on pavement, scrabble pieces, cut-out letters from a periodical or blood.

[Phibby Venable]

an astonishing, deep work that is a marvel to read. your words
have the strength and genius of the finest. Wonderful writing.

[Tate Morgan]

you ability to wit is second to none but the likes of conan doyle and dickens i love the way you speak in print

[Pax Analog]

This is a vividly impressive "report from the front" -- all the more so because you directly interact w/the literal psychological effects of the aftermath.

Your aim and poetic eye is true and an expression of moral courage.

It makes one wonder when, if ever, the detached ratiocinations of politicized warfare will admit that people are ACTUALLY MURDERED, and sometimes, as in your account, under especially egregious circumstances.

This account runs deep, and various shades of this dynamic are perpetrated routinely -- even at the level of stateside economic norms.

Thanks for the guerrilla spirit and expressivity.

[Doctor JKC]

Sins upon sins, meaning missing the truth,
missing the mark. War most adharmic,
meaning gross and with no values.
We have not moved a bit from the Dark Ages.

A powerful piece from you,
Jack

[Life is A"Musing"]

Intense images amaze me, as your insightful descriptions take you to a “place” that eyes to see the sadness of war.
I love the intertwined languages, they really embellish this heart wrenching write!
Well Done :-) Lee

[Legion]

WOW! Intense and tormenting. The things we do. It is amazing that we have survived as a species to this point. At the present rate though, we may get our up and comence (ck sp) soon. Damn fine write. Going in favorites.