The death of the sister in the death march

January 01, 2014  /  Raquel Angel

You lied there, white over white,
Mortally beautiful.
You murmured, with a throat full of hail:
I can find no longer my body.
How distant is everything:
My toes at the other end, my hands fallen forever.
I see. I smell. I hear.
Yet I'm dead. I know it.