Evidence
Alyza Taguilaso I refuse to find proof
of innocence. The halls of court
are narrow and dim, the air reeks of age
and names forgotten. They shot him
in plain sight: seventeen witnesses
to the cry for help, begging
for another twenty-four hours
to breathe. He was given thirty bullets
to the chest, said the coroner. Points
of entry riddling the body
like a constellation. Plain blue sky broken
by an exclamation of Please!
that unflinching velocity
of a body left without a choice
but to run. A black revolver blooms
within the bag. Books remain scattered
by the road. There was an attempt at escape.
They will call this evidence
as they pronounce him dead.
They will place the cold slab of his heart
on a scale and swear
how it weighs heavier
than a feather.