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Undocumented MAG
March 10, 2016
The night screams silence, but fear
controls – eyes bloodshot,
adrenaline quivering through veins.
She runs, her life dripping,
like sangria droplets condensing from
uncle’s glass to his dirt shoes.
The dust of the desert,
swirling into flashing red and blue,
unveiling a face bordering sleep
but looking for something else.
Her mind is lost in chaos
and cold, thoughts dissolving to the single one:
home.
Home is childhood.
Home is laughter.
Home is support.
Home is comfortable –
<i>cómoda</i>,
This is why she left.
© Rosanna S., Phoenix, AZ
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