What do we do when the last abuser has died during the pandemic, by Noemi Altagracia Martinez-Turull

you make tea

you look for the meaning of sympathy and empathy

decide you have none, no understanding,

dead

you dodge calls from your apa

about funeral arrangements

how everyone is at your tia’s

and will you go?

but you have complicated masks

your own empty late, grieving

to learn about

graves to keep covered

later still, dodging more calls,

now more tias are crying

primos wonder will you

and why aren’t you there

then the morning

tells you

there are apologies

you are waiting to hear

You don’t even cry

there’s not a thing you can do

you’re changed,

dead

Now, all the abusers are dead.

swallowed you whole

and spit

you back up, the dirt

your hair grew and grew

and the abusers are dead now

after this last one is gone

not even relief, nothing

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Noemi Ixchel Martínez Turull is a queer femme gq [she/they] crip poet-curanderx writer, historian, and cultural worker existing in the militarized borderlands.