Girl Before the News Camera

I always thought the world
would fade, all the leaves draining
gray, the sky stripped of light
—like the way you blew out
the flame each night, mama
and then kissed me.
But this darkness comes
from behind my eyes,
filling them so fast, my heart
pumps ice from inside
and in the distance

in the distance I can still see
green leaves, a glittering
village. If I keep
my eyes open and look
far ahead, then that white
door on that red house
will open. How long
have I been standing here,
my dress heavy dead wet
petals and is this what

your lips
on my cheek
feel like, dear God,
this freezing wind?
How many hours
smelling this mud, this
water reflecting no
sky, someone’s blue
shirt gagging, ballooned
up, floating at my shoulder,
snagged. . .

And you
with the camera
over and over
photographing my face
as I stand here neck-deep:

where are you from,
what will you do with
my picture and what
is it between us that
you should be here now

flying here
from your world now
when you are as helpless
as I am to do anything—

whoever is left
in your world:
you who are lost
in your world:

why was I born
to bear your willingness

to sacrifice
my life kiss me can’t

you see how only you
are left to give

me my last
kiss.

In memory of Omaira Sanchez