fear of reprisal
by Christina Vega
Imagine it.
Stationed / missing / back to Texas / “found in a field at Ft. Hood”
How many families didn’t have the privilege of imagination this year,
their babies / “dismembered” / news stories.
“Last seen at the motor pool” / “bludgeoned with a hammer”
“beaten so badly officials had to”/ “homemade body vault”
Lives become dice thrown into the air / as in, Ciudad Juarez. or
a response to threats expressed in childhood.
Which side of the table is the wrong one?
I could have been “dragged out of a nearby lake” / “another missing woman”
Instead & still, I disassociate / become “unfounded claims of sexual assault”
language so passive it dribbles off the page.
I think about them, those missing women,
when I lay in bed on cold mornings under a clean comforter.
They have become open reports
“body encased in concrete” / “independent investigation”
I am told, “address the sergeant major as soon as you enter”
& I’m back, I’m fumbling / a warning expressed in the locker room.
“car found with all his belongings still inside”
“he then shot himself dead”
& I have to shake myself back into the present.
My orders changed. I am safely distanced / “unresponsive”
I knew what was waiting for me.
I “thrust into the national spotlight”
I whisper their names before my baby wakes.
Vanessa Guillen / Gregory Morales / Mejhor Morta / Elder Fernandez.
I imagine who they could have become,
what they didn’t say for “fear of reprisal”
& whose responsibility is it to counter
“where appropriate, we intend to seek justice”
If this is justice / “dismembered”
If this is due process / “found hanging in a tree after reporting sexual abuse”
Let me go back and absorb the risk.
Let us put them to rest, our children / bring them home.
“As a veteran and a mother, I cannot express how scared I am, and was while serving in the military, of the constant threat of violence to my body—and to the bodies of my loved ones—not by enemy combatants, but by the violence instilled in our warrior class here in the U.S. As a nation, we make demands of soldiers to practice and imagine violence, unapologetically and without question and incessantly, yet we do not equip them with the tools they need to release that violence or tension or turmoil in controlled or healthy ways when not on the battlefield. Consequently, our military bases are hotbeds for domestic violence, abuse, and murder by and against soldiers and their families. This poem represents my fear, past and present, for those residing at Ft. Hood, TX, one of the most dangerous military bases in our country. It is also a lament for those soldiers who died at Ft. Hood by the hands of fellow soldiers and accomplices. Please do not forget for one moment that Vanessa Guillen, Gregory Morales, Mejhor Morta and Elder Fernandez were all someone’s baby.” —Christina Vega
Christina Vega (they/them) is a Queer Chicana poet from New Mexico. They’re the publisher at Blue Cactus Press, a hybrid publisher making books that serve as community resources by Queer and BIPOC authors. Christina believes we have the power to reshape our communities with principles of Emergent Strategy, transformative justice, and collective laboring of love. They believe revolution starts at home. Christina self-published their debut poetry collection, Still Clutching Maps, in 2017. Their poetry has appeared in Creative Colloquy, Frontera Vol. 3: estados silvestres // natural states, International Poetry Review, Papeachu Issue 3, Timberline Review, WA129+, and Milk Gallery. Christina’s journalism has appeared in City Arts, Grit City Magazine, Hilltop Action Journal, OLY ARTS, The Ranger, VOICE Magazine and Weekly Volcano. Follow Christina on Twitter @bluecactuspress and Instagram @ccthemighty.