INHERITANCE
the ghost-child
moves bones
from one room
to another
in an endless
search for ancestry
while I seek
her future
LOS DESPARECIDOS
the children are buried
under lime trees
on the riverbank their voices call to me
quiet as rippling water -
I kneel to listen we talk of skipping rope
five-stones
and nursery rhymes stories they whisper
of a friend who ran fast
another who leapt high away from the night-time
guns that made gouts of fire
through flesh
Copyright © 2007 Joanna M. Weston
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