FALLEN
to Andrea Louise Thomas
The soldier woke up in a hut, sore but rested, over a pile of straw covered with the shreds of his parachute. The old lady who had fed him and dressed his wounds was sitting on the dirt floor, offering him water. While he slept, she must have washed the filth off him and swapped his fatigues for fresh clothes, probably left by one of the men who pulled him from the mud last night. Had they not reached him before the rising tide, he would have drowned in the dark, among the mangroves. So, after hours in silence, he mustered the courage to speak. “I’m sorry I killed your son”, he said. They didn’t understand his words. But they didn’t have to: they would clearly understand, later that night, the exquisite language of his screams.
Roberto Pérez-Franco
2024
Thank you for sharing my text, Edilberto!
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