This poem came out of a news article about the backlog of bodies waiting to be identified at the Pima, AZ county morgue--bodies of immigrants who died in the desert crossing the border.
It is forthcoming in Painted Bride Quarterly # 85.
Cuajimalpa, Good Friday Evening
Yet We See a Lot of Remains
Flood Stage on the Upper Iowa
El Sacrificio Santo
I Will Watch You Through the Middle of the Night
Fire Engine at the Senior Home, 5 am
The River and Its Mercy
The Boys Playing Basketball
Full Eclipse at Koinonia
First Communion for the Children of the Undocumented
Abigail Lives in a Box
YOU ARE MY FATHER, MY SON