Blood Mountain

Bleeding Mountain

When he slit my throat, my voice
bubbled in my blood, seeping
into the dirt, rolling over the hills
and valleys becoming echoes

resounding in my soul, bringing
me back to this morning when my brother
came home with blood on his shirt
not his own, but when I asked,

he never answered though I saw fear
in his eyes, and my own eyes
were hardly closed when explosions
pounded me like concussions,

bombs bursting like nightmares
all around me, flashes in the darkness
illuminating faces of hate I didn't recognize,
I see my sister rocking back and forth

on the toilet seat, another sister mixing
chemicals from under the sink to throw
in their eyes, and my mother begging
for her life in the other room,

until her pleas silenced by explosions
sending concussions into my soul,
my brother blasting away with a shotgun
until his shells were spent, pumping

uselessly, shotguns exploding around him
with the sound of death, smoke curling
around his smile as he waved at me
one last time, or so I thought

until I joined him for the journey,
chasing him, trying to keep up
to his long-legged gait, like
when I was a little girl, always

steps behind and we sat on the mountainside,
holding hands watching the voices
bubble in the blood, seeping into the ground,
becoming forever a part of the mountain.

--Aurelio