The Visitor

In Spanish he whispers there is no time left.
It is the sound of scythes arcing in wheat,
the ache of some field song in Salvador.
The wind along the prison, cautious
as Francisco’s hands on the inside, touching
the walls as he walks, it is his wife’s breath
slipping into his cell each night while he
imagines his hand to be hers. It is a small country.

There is nothing one man will not do to another.

Carolyn Forché, 1979
(Human rights worker in El Salvador during the death squads that the U.S. helped to support with aid, arms, and training.)

Mikaela says:
Sound familiar at all? Couldn’t she be talking about political prisoners in Guantanamo or in Iraq? Only these days, we’re the jailers. Does this administration consider that progress?