OF THE MURDERED GIRL Poem by Pedro Arturo Estrada

Before whom,
for my hands and feet shattered,
my face charred in the first bloom of youth,
my breasts severed that night,
shall I claim restitution.

Before whom,
for fairest days thrown into the fire,
for the annihilated morning laughter,
the strength of my blood sown among stones,
shall I assess the loss.

Before whom,
of love destroyed, dreams under the earth,
beauty reduced to a pile of ragged
offal, desire mutilated -
of the scream and sob heard only
by the indifferent powers,
shall I demand an answer.

Before whom,
for the still credulous or barely naïve word
of life and the horror that smothered it,
shall I obtain an explanation.