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Poem

Piedad Bonnet

A MATTER OF STATISTICS

They were twenty-two, said the report.
Seventeen men, three women,
two children with bewildered eyes,
sixty-three shots, four Creeds,
three deep, muffled curses,
forty-four feet with their shoes,
forty-four unarmed hands,
a single fear, a hatred that sizzles,
and a thousand silences putting on  
bandages on the mangled soul.  

CUESTIÓN DE ESTADÍSTICAS

CUESTIÓN DE ESTADÍSTICAS

Fueron veintidós, dice la crónica.
Diecisiete varones, tres mujeres,
dos niños de miradas aleladas,
sesenta y tres disparos, cuatro credos,
tres maldiciones hondas, apagadas,
cuarenta y cuatro pies con su zapatos,
cuarenta y cuatro manos desarmadas,
un solo miedo, un odio que crepita,
y un millar de silencios extendiendo
sus vendas sobre el alma mutilada.
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A MATTER OF STATISTICS

They were twenty-two, said the report.
Seventeen men, three women,
two children with bewildered eyes,
sixty-three shots, four Creeds,
three deep, muffled curses,
forty-four feet with their shoes,
forty-four unarmed hands,
a single fear, a hatred that sizzles,
and a thousand silences putting on  
bandages on the mangled soul.  

A MATTER OF STATISTICS

They were twenty-two, said the report.
Seventeen men, three women,
two children with bewildered eyes,
sixty-three shots, four Creeds,
three deep, muffled curses,
forty-four feet with their shoes,
forty-four unarmed hands,
a single fear, a hatred that sizzles,
and a thousand silences putting on  
bandages on the mangled soul.  
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