IN POETRY
Brother

by H.J. Recinos

why bother with god talk
that says nothing about kids

gone missing, the brutality
of their streets and the rivers,

deserts and jails telling their
stories in Spanish for anyone

awake enough to hear. why
bother to attend yet another

Sunday service in castaway
churches full of excuses and

practiced in looking the other
way. when will the rich houses

of worship start singing the grieving
hymns written by mothers who beg

the infinite to make American hands
return Ana, Rosa, Olga, Juan, Miguel,

and Joel. when will the lettered
theologians ask the young girls

who walked across three borders
what they felt seeing their mother

raped and America spitting out
everything for which their beaten

families prayed. how many empty
nights for the people with hearts

full of dreams will go unnoticed
by those paid for doing sacraments

and sharing godly thoughts twitched
up like indigestion. when will the

church bells ring good news for the
forsaken longing for a sweet taste

of paradise and days on English
named streets without cursing

a God who in America appears
too wealthy and most high.