The Valley of the Dry Bones

we have been wandering
nomads in this strange land
where love bleeds
and scrapes the skin
where rose petals burn
as the earth consumes us
there are borders we cannot cross

we are pieces scattered to the wind
bone ash sifting with the sand
open-mouthed and silent we cry:
mama porque?
mama yo estoy sola
porque…
no one hears us here
in this valley of dry bones
how long can we walk against the wind?


we turn to Guadalupe looking
for answers in her knowing eyes
they only reflect sorrow and pain
silently she weeps for the mute
silently we pass unnoticed
there are hundreds of us now
pictures and prayers mark
the graveyard of our bones


we write our names in the sand
elizabeth ramos
veronica quezada
marcela santos garza
yolanda tapia
maria cordero
identity unkown…



we line the streets
guardian angels for the women
walking home from the maquiladoras
hoping to protect them from
wandering hands
from the backseats of cars
beaten and broken
from the fate of bones in the sand
our cries are not enough to save them

this city is hell
we the guardians of purgatory
cannot stand for this much longer
the streets are muy peligroso
our bodies are scarred and mutiliated
the city has been raped of her security
we are the bone prophets waiting for judgment

we are so young yet so old
ghosts of this city
waiting for justicia
waiting for liberadad
screaming in silence
this scattered collective
of our broken voices will rise
will overwhelm
will destroy