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Tula

One night I am my grandfather.

It’s summer; no wind.

My daughter has found

work & love in another world.

The pictures of her son look

almost white.

Her political brother’s in prison. The youngest

floats

facedown in a river.

It’s a season of abduction.

God is under house arrest.

Doors hang open.

The day before, I saw a man so heavy with blood

his soul couldn’t rise out of his body.

I should send word I’m dying but

no one can move, not even

to wipe the sweat from their eyes.

Noon, not a sound: even the songbirds

are under martial law.