Wednesday, 13 August 2014

'For Estela'

Here on this knife-edge 
I have waited for thirty eight years
those first days were darkness
those first dreams were crimson
stains from murderous hands 

I am the madwoman who
asks too many questions
unpicking a tapestry of lies
its holes shedding light on 
the faces of the disappeared 

like stars they illuminate 
the seas the rivers the streets
re-tracing the last days of our kin  
we sisters of Plaza de Mayo 
we circle we gather in prayer   

Now that I've found you 
I step back from the edge
I can sleep easier now  
I know in you she lives on.

©Bryn Hyfrd.
Poetry Blog
Bryn writes poetry short stories and plays. Reads monthly at poetry open mic at 'Beyond Words ' Gypsy Hill Tavern ' .