wealthy
vampires
with
the cold hands of executioners
execute
executive
decisions
determined
to destroy
what
1 million women, children, and men
1910
died,
drowning in the rage of battle.
mothers,
half naked
infants
clutching thier necks
running
frantically
tripping
over the bodies of their sons
teeth
gnashing
swinging
machete
spitting
blood and mud, and screaming:
land,
and liberty!
were
erased.
buried
and burned
along
with the memory of the dead
along
with the ejido.
with
the smooth stroke of a pen
and
with the ghost of Nixon present in their eyes
they
smiled.
and
pronounced the omnipitence
of
the free market
the
prophets of profit
extending
the scurge of columbus and pizarro
the
freedom to buy things you can never afford
the
freedom for indians to buy corn that once flourished overgrown in their
backyards
the
freedom to die of curable disease
the
freedom to watch their children's stomachs swell and burst
the
freedom to starve and die
without
land
or
liberty
but
Ramona, with eyes of obsidian
peering
through her blood and sweat drenched mask
darding,
unseen
changing
direction with the swiftness of a bird
through
the shanty's of the canyon
with
every coyote, every insect, every phylum of life
urging
her, propelling her forward.
the
leaves and branches of the forest
part
for miles, clearing her path
the
voices and screams of the dead beneathe her feet
echo
in the deepest chasm of her soul
hurling
her, toward the city
history
surging through her veins
pulsing
through her fingers
hurling
her, towards the city
she
caresses her trigger
and
the words of Magón fulfil her being
and
with each shot she fires, she affirms her movement
saying:
enough!
enough!
no!
I
will see my own blood flow
before
you take my land...or my liberty
- Zack de la Rocha