Verónica Pamoukaghlián is a Uruguayan writer and filmmaker who has been known to divide her time between Montevideo and Seattle.
Her works have appeared in THE ACENTOS REVIEW, THE SOUTHERN PACIFIC REVIEW, LENTO, PRISM, NAKED PUNCH, SENTINEL LITERARY QUARTERLY, THE ARMENIAN WEEKLY, and elsewhere.
She is a screenwriting instructor and a literary translator for Amazon Publishing.
English is the author´s second language.
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NOT ALL OF US

It was one of those days
in Seattle
when raindrops fall
at such long intervals
that no one sees it fit
to open their umbrella

The four Mexican men
standing
outside the Consulate

Holding handwritten signs
that passers by
cannot
understand

NO ESTAMOS TODOS
FALTAN CUARENTA Y TRES

They demonstrate
for no one

in the Northwestern wind
and pungent rain

The passers by
that hurry on
and look away:

A hipster
walking his exotic dog
a toothless black man
mumbling something
to himself
a Vietnamese manicurist
in a pink robe
a cult recruiter
in a tall straw hat

NO ESTAMOS TODOS
FALTAN CUARENTA Y TRES

Nobody stays

Only four little men with the
dark skin of the Mayans
Standing like statues
as still as mountain tops
The blankness on their face
of silent rage

Dreary and wet
from standing
in Seattle´s stubborn rain

Their women and children
wrapped in a blanket
waiting for them
uprooted to the bone
in this cold West

And far away
towards the belly
of the Equator
there is a classroom full
of vacant chairs

The silent cry
that will not go away
stubborn as the rain:

NO ESTAMOS TODOS
FALTAN CUARENTA Y TRES

They are invisible

and only I
can see them

Now someone calls
with news:
a dumpster pyre
a common grave

No more the hope
no more the search
No more CUARENTA Y TRES

and one of the men cries,
covering his soaking face

There was no rain
no rain
no rain
the night Iguala burnt.