I only recognized your hair: short,
neatly combed. Our mother
would’ve been proud.
In the Sonoran desert
your body became a slaughter-
house where faith and want were stunned,
hung upside down, gutted. We
to bring roses, to aim for the bush. Remember?
You tried to pork
a girl’s armpit. In Border Patrol
jargon, the word
for border crossers is the same whether
they’re alive or dead.
When I read his flesh fell
off the bones, my stomach rumbled,