The Brush of his Fingertips

Nearly every two days, the desert south of the Arizona border ends another person’s life, as they seek immigration to the US. Attempts are made to offer water and medical aid to those crossing by foot.


My first day in the desert,

I met a group of men resting beneath the shadow of a tree.

The closest thing to home they had seen since La Ciudad.


One man showed me his hands.

The skin as coarse as the sand beneath his feet.

Blisters piled atop one another like urban skylines.

His food and water now empty as the lies he bought about
Arizona being only a two day walk from home.


A picture of his wife and daughter was the last thing remaining in his bag.


Now, worn from the brush of his fingertips.


I shuttered to think what must have crossed his mind

when he saw the infant’s overalls rotting beneath the shade of that tree,

or the stack of condoms stained red with the blood of mothers.


With the little I had on me,

I tried bandaging his feet,

understanding this would only serve to take him farther from the loved ones he was forced to leave behind.


Jeremiah Blue


Related Posts
Showing 2 comments
  • Justine

    Love this! Looking forward to more from you.

    • Jeremiah Blue

      Thank you! There is a lot more on the way. Your support is much appreciated!

Leave a Comment