The Stoning of Sarah
The shot was fired and the child, stripped of more than a veil, turned from the false honor of stones. Weeds bleeding in dead men's eyes splattered her flesh muzzling a nameless crowd amidst applause. Together, on the back of a pick-up, rushing through fields of split fig, they rested after walking up to a water place. At home I wrestle with striking teachers, careful not to get hit by flying Yucca, suspicious of terms: Latin lover, communist, slave, tranny. And I don’t have a job, or a single dream, but rivers of words transgressing, drive me mad as I join the picket line taking my bath to the middle of the street. © Sergio A. Ortiz, Publisher, Flutter Press, 2009