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To Esteban R. Arellano, Jr.'s previous piece

Sister, Twilight Is A Thousand Candles God Burns For You

Sister, 
in the folds of Day
lurks Dark --
what could I have done 
but what I did.

You swung so high,
your laughter skipped
across the sphere,
your Mongolian eyes
shut out the light

(slits of black stone).

Even then, in the school yard,
I smelled your decaying flesh.
Embalmed in sorrow
your soul flickered.

(Where was the savior?
Is that what older brothers
are supposed to be?)
 
As you rose --
the final arc --
Day unveiled 
and showed the balance 
of God’s hand.
Night scurried
and hid in the belly 
of the wicked world.

What was his name --
Cabron! Pinche! Chingon!
What was his name,
oh Great God!
What matters is
you imbued me 
with your power.
I became a Danite, 
son of Manoah,
and faced him 
with an asses’ bone. 
I would not let him grind.

Jezebel’s blood
dropped as dew 
on a blade of grass.
Dark roared --
I would not let him cleave.
Sister,
not this time,
I would not let him --

On the day of rest,
I took you home
and prayed for you,
your resurrection;
but you were lost,
entombed in clay,
and I was left
with my laments.

Now,
a man,
full of iniquities,
I wait your knock.
Sister, 
please don’t weep. 
Day is done,
and twilight is a thousand candles
God burns for you.

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