Sphere of the Present
Long ago he sought
only fulfillment
of his wrath and
lust. Entitled. The
dog from El Norte shed
the insignificant. A
Mexican girl
died. The meager
love she thought
true, endless
for her and
their baby, only
careening toward
the end unaware.
Her voice pierces
time seeking
justice. It reaches
into the present
“Ayudame!” I hear. I
knock on doors.
“Listen! Stop the
White dog!” Barred.
Locked forever in
an insistence to let
sleeping dogs lie
especially dogs
from El Norte.
Hidden horrors decades
old no longer
matter. Only now.
The Sphere of the Present.
All of us tangled
together. A Rat King.
Locked in a futile
struggle to survive. All
there ever was
or would be until
the end. Her
voice fades. Never
ends. ayudame
ayudame ayudame
ayudame ayudame
ayudame …..
Martha Ellen Johnson lives alone in an old Victorian house o na hill on the Oregon coast. She is a retired social worker with a history of social justice activism, and has an MFA. Her poems and prose are published in various journals and online forums including RAIN, North Coast Squid, Hot Potato, Spindrift Journal [upcoming] and others.
