Natalie Scenters-Zapico take our one bedroom, our washer and dryer— anything of value. But, how was I to know that even God would push your frail form from the sky? So when I find your body naked, your skull cracked in shards across the tar, I take my clothes off and cover you. You whisper: I can’t die here, I wanted to fall on the live side of the border. And I know it isn’t your voice I’m hearing but I take your severed hands and carry them across to Juárez anyway. I breathe bone as I cross—your blood running to my elbows. I breathe. I breathe to exchange your body for an explanation. I breathe. No one says a word; I breathe.
Crab Orchard Review
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