← v9n2, Fall 2010
Poetry · Volume 9, Number 2

Ochre ix

The stick man bristles with five sticks

& his insides pour out, a mesh of ochre,

Rendered childlike. The invention of torture

Is so fresh they are confounded.

How to depict

The human figure mangled, the whole reduced

To the gutted sum of its parts, a brilliant ooze

Of sinew? Some long-forgotten deity is appeased

Or praised.

It eats & eats of our flesh.

They keep you chained & hooded on the flight

From Kabul to Gitmo. They serve a meal

Of rubber hoses, then another. The shackles

Pry at your wrists & ankles. Then it’s straight

From tarmac to solitary. They tug off the cowl. The light

Strikes you down.

On fettered hands & knees, crawl.