Dolores González
her husband’s outstretched hand
father on his knees, pleading.
Her boy drawn out to manhood
by glooms.
Whispers seep into her heart
Mama, I'm here, I'm cold.
She sips water
eating seems wrong
in this sepulchre of the disappeared.
Sifting grainy soil she searches
for fragments of loved ones.
Overhead, observatories chart
boundaries of our world
track the death and rebirth of stars.