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To Esteban R. Arellano, Jr.'s previous piece
Sister, Twilight Is A Thousand Candles God Burns For You
Sister,
in the folds of Day
lurks Dark --
what could I have done
but what I did.
You swung so high,
your laughter skipped
across the sphere,
your Mongolian eyes
shut out the light
(slits of black stone).
Even then, in the school yard,
I smelled your decaying flesh.
Embalmed in sorrow
your soul flickered.
(Where was the savior?
Is that what older brothers
are supposed to be?)
As you rose --
the final arc --
Day unveiled
and showed the balance
of God’s hand.
Night scurried
and hid in the belly
of the wicked world.
What was his name --
Cabron! Pinche! Chingon!
What was his name,
oh Great God!
What matters is
you imbued me
with your power.
I became a Danite,
son of Manoah,
and faced him
with an asses’ bone.
I would not let him grind.
Jezebel’s blood
dropped as dew
on a blade of grass.
Dark roared --
I would not let him cleave.
Sister,
not this time,
I would not let him --
On the day of rest,
I took you home
and prayed for you,
your resurrection;
but you were lost,
entombed in clay,
and I was left
with my laments.
Now,
a man,
full of iniquities,
I wait your knock.
Sister,
please don’t weep.
Day is done,
and twilight is a thousand candles
God burns for you.
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