A poem from Roberto Santos…

Bloodlines/Waiting on the News

We stand here

On the edge of hell

In El Paso—

Remembering our other side

Abuela sculpting masa

The crinkle of Abuelo’s eyes

Us with our Primitos

Playing traviesos at night

Sure we still remember

How could we forget?

Afraid when the anchor on TV

Shows another three shot dead—

Through bullet shattered windows

A person’s Tia laments

Padre, Madre, o Hijo

We hope our blood is not next

So we stand here

On the edge of hell

In El Paso

Looking over that world of lights

Waiting—

For death to touch us through

Our family on the other side.