In Loving Memory of Ricky Rodriguez (1975-2005)
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Ricky Rodriguez (1975-2005)

Memories of Ricky :: Blade of an angry angel

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By fairlight - Nov 08, 2005

Brothers, brothers, lovers
With your guns;
Sitting in your dark skin,
With the short hard history of your lives.

Little prayers books;
With butterflies and plastic covers;
Cradling your questions,
Your confusion at not being heard.

When we were children God was in the rising bread,
In the blackened cave of the oven,
In the cold drops of rain that pelted our leaking houses,
In the open mouths of our parents as they asked to be filled;
Fed.

And all of us were brothers, sisters,
Spread like a sweet jam over the uneven map of the world;
Dropped into all the countries that they had only dreamed of;
Stretched over the curious eyes of children,
That must find God,
In us.

Brother with your tears on a sharp knife;
Tears that became a sharp knife;
An edge that longed for blood,
The blood of parents who had turned away,
We were no longer with God.

Brother, brother
With the moist blade of red-tinged steel,
As you slid it painfully (you felt every stab),
Into the heart of a God that had not heard.

What was that the poet said:
"Mother is the name of God to a child?"
And your god with her sweet smile that hid rejection;
Your god who turned her blue eyes on you in wrath;
Hatred.

Oh, angry angel,
Fallen prophet of an empty faith;
One third of you turned to bitter bile,
At your mother-god's smile;

As she pointed a warm white finger that you would never feel against your skin,
As she pushed you with her heavy prayers,
Further and further in,
To the handle of that blade that should have been for her.

No amount of angry tears,
Can pull it out again;
Where you rest with the wet earth;
Around eyes that saw too much.

And that big black gun,
As you drove for hours over a straight road that was paved by the past;
Destruction, destruction;
Love like a cruel twist of that blade.

As she professed in disbelief,
"Innocent, innocent!",
And then silence;
Her life blood made no sound.

Was she with you when you put the hard mouth of the gun,
To your head?
Was she silently holding you to it?
Oh, devil!
Oh, dark, dark!
Was it dark?

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