Sonnet for Señor Rubén Salazar
One projectile and four decades ago,
when the writer fought against death quiet
and slow, (for they say that the end is so:
a stillness of time and place, a not-yet
that occurs to the dying, a no, not
just yet.) And as the voice of refusal
rises again and again to make stop
death’s procedure, the will of the martyr
seizes its newfound purpose; what but death,
cowardly death, accepts vile orders
to squelch the people’s pen by state power?
So close we had come, as close as a breath,
to freedom's center. Above and beneath
we remember him, Señor Salazar.
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