AFTER 12 HOURS

THE FUNERAL:
brothers accused of removing dead sister from coffin.
a ceramic angel stands over the destroyed remains.

MOON AT 11 O’CLOCK
HANGS LIKE A GOLDEN CRADLE
ON HER RIVERBEDS,

i feel like a small caged animal,
his eyes hunting up and down my body,
when no one is looking.

WHEN SHE LACQUERED INNOCENCE ON HER NINE NAILS,
WE SAID, "THAT’S DESTRUCTION OF COMMON SENSE."

where undressing the doll
your tongue down my throat,
like an oxygen tube
lulled me into a sense of complacency
but, i crawled out of the car window,
into the grieving river
because,
when you came in me, you tore out my heart.

POLICE STUMBLED ON BONES,
“PROBABLY DIED OF SELF-INFLICTED GUNSHOTS,”
neighbors never talked.

"33 LOST, 3 SAVED"
a snapshot count,
“34 LOST, 2 SAVED”
2 minutes,
“35 LOST, 1 SAVED”
2 minutes,
“36 LOST . . . NONE SAVED.”

yea, government drags it’s feet,
wheels of justice grind,
but oh, how they grind so slowly

WORLD,
PARALYZED,
SILENCE.

before my funeral:
i fold my body into languages left unread,
become the language of skin and bone,
cover myself in black plastic,
and say,
"let the mourners through."

alisa

(found poem: Los Angeles Times, New York Times, Chicago Sun-Times, Google newspaper headlines, Telling to Live: Latina Feminist Testimonios, “You Don’t Know What Love Is” Kim Addonizio, and self-authored poems)