Amnesia/Amnesty

I knew a boy once, but he disappeared

one day he was white teethed smile biting

on half a stale bread, swimsuit and bare feet,

the next he was statistic, room tidied up

by a grieving mother, his obvious absence.

Once, looking at a school picture she wished

she had given him away. That was the pain

talking. She really wished for a body

to mourn, because him being alive was so…

that hope was like anti-freeze poisoning

killing so painfully, so slowly. Merciless.

Alone at night she could almost hear his knock at the door,

the lame excuse for being almost two year late for supper.

She wished, realistically speaking,

that a bullet had gotten to him

before the blunt knife to his scalp,

the ice axe to his kneecap,

the pliers to his healthy teeth.

Angrily, she cursed his image ­

­­­– the sepia toned portrait of a tanned boy

stepping on a decrepit soccer ball–

She had taught him to lie with a smile,

keep his head low, salute and shut up.

She taught him so well! She taught him

to kiss the flag when he wanted to burn it,

to praise the president, when he wished

to be the national revolution/traitor/martyr

She cursed his name, the name she chose

for him so carefully, so lovingly.

She wished he could have been mute

or even blind to the absence of people

living without fear. Once there was a boy

in that house, but he disappeared.