Water over head

I look at others passing me
purple mothers
yellow mothers
boys and girls been dragged by the arms
arrastrados
one mother pull a hand
pressed all fingers
light-skin colored
the girl’s name is Aishia
the mama called her
several times last night
fearing her death
we all fear it
but no one say a thing
the child was playing
with tree leaves
also eating them

today all mothers walk with their babies
with their heirs
successors of the hopes of a nation
obligated to keep on foot
obligated by belly ache
some are tall
big eyes
hungry eyes
hungry mouths
famished chests
and mamas
blue mothers
pale mothers
violet mothers
obscure ones
and their skirts
rainbow skirts
they all are so weak
can barely hold them
on the back
on the arms

I hardly can stand myself
looking for clouds
praying for rain
observing
carefully
the head of my second one
so weak
he is just about to speak
but fell over the Dadaab land
I ask for help
which god will help us now?

my other kid
the first one
is awake
closed eyes
flies over the skull
moscas sobre el cráneo
the sky answers my prayer
milagrosamente
water over the heads
water sprinkling the eyelids
water inside the lips
my first open eyes
put out the tongue
my second was silent
she make
an emphatic
no reaction

© Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro

Famine forces mothers to decide which child lives and which dies
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Yolanda is the author of the novel Caparazones (2010) and has won prizes including National Institute of Puerto Rican Literature Prize in 2008. She is a Director of the Puerto Rican Word Festival. 

Fukushima for two

a pink sunset has been observed after
Fukushima tears in my cheeks
I am not sure about this landscape
other color ranges
from violet and gray
I miss the game of the shapes of clouds
this twilight contains the highest level of millisieverts
since the recall
800 mSv per hour
a scan of my abdomen and pelvis
an x-ray of my spine
lies on the terrace table
reads: 15 millisieverts of radiation
Melba made grimaces
and laughs at my concern
there is an echo of iodine, strontium and cesium
if I ever get a hamster I'll name him Strontium
she move the shoulders to look flirty
I smile because for me she looks absolutely beautiful
Even thou this is worse than Chernobyl
even thou I notice a new blister on her neck
we hug and suddenly
I want to know if she is an atheist
I try to pronounce the sentence
nothing comes out of my mouth
amazing sunsets around the world
breath taking sunsets in other parts of the planet
a pink sunset
here in Fukushima
a cry sunset

© Yolanda Arroyo Pizarro

Thyroid radiation found in 45% of children in Japanese province
Radioactive meat circulating on Japanese market
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Yolanda is the author of the novel Caparazones (2010) and has won prizes including National Institute of Puerto Rican Literature Prize in 2008. She is a Director of the Puerto Rican Word Festival.