"Separation" by Danny Rivera

Separation

In the high plains of the countryside you carried
your mother’s water, tore the branch from the palo santo,

became a man under the sun. Animals provided no comfort
in their voices, no respite from the wind. You once pulled

the offering of maracuyá from the ancestral vine, tasted
its course into the throat. Tying a length of rope around

the goat’s hind quarters before the communal sacrifice,
you heard children praying towards the sky. The men,



accustomed to so much thirst, scored their names onto

the ground. Later, you extended the maps, followed a path

along the riverbed, held teeth and lengths of hair, rosary
beads and leaves, like relics in a shadowbox. How am I

to measure this cruelty when it is left unattended, to accept
that I am still your son, but not the last to be written in ash?

Danny rivera

Danny Rivera received an MFA degree in Creative Writing from City College of New York, and his writing has appeared, or is forthcoming in, Washington Square Review, Epiphany, Midway, and other journals.

Headshot Credit: Danny Rivera

Photo Credit: Staff