That borderlands have also been called “frontiers.”

That some believe there is a crossable border between

human and savage that should not be crossed.

That some believe they are the sole “human” who could

never become something less.

That some believe “human” is our ontological apex.

That the “savage” finds its shape in the mind of

the “human.”

That the Texas Rangers, U.S. Cavalry, and four ranchers

shot those fifteen men and boys in the “wilderness.”

That the wildest field is the imperial imagination.

That Captain Fox called the fifteen men and boys

“bandits” on their own land.

That the bodies of the killed were discovered by Henry

Warren, an Anglo-American schoolteacher, and his

student, Juan Flores (13), son of Longino Flores.

That a son had to find his father’s corpse that way.

That anyone must find a corpse and relate to it against the

routine of living, against memory.

That the remaining residents of Porvenir returned to

Porvenir and brought their dead back with them to

Mexico for burial.

That the dead had to cross two borders: living to dead,

home to exile.

That this is the seal and perfection of exile: revision.

That the U.S. Army razed the town of Porvenir,

which translates in English to “future.”

Manuel Moralez (47), Román Nieves (48), Pedro Herrera (25)

What is the Anglo-American wilderness if not an abomination of the mind, an exaltation of the mind’s tumult?

In what organ does the never-seeing of brown faces begin?

How to incorporealize another with such ease, citizenship made invalid by a want?

Extralegal: a feral Anglo amendment.

What do we call the frontier of the unexplored wilderness that was the Texas Rangers’ ferality?

What Anglo deed for the deed to the land?

What do we make of the fifteen killed being both shot and stabbed?

What was summoned during that rite, magic slapping the ass of massacre?

We are captivated by the possibility of a freedom impossible to receive from the ones who promised it.

Antonio Castanedo (72), Severiano Herrera (15), Juan Jiménez (16)

Myth: The 140 survivors of the massacre did not need

to carry back the dead from where they were left dead.

When they abandoned Porvenir for refuge, the dead stood

like Christ, fingered each other’s wounds, and the wind

said, Yes, this is banishment where once was flesh. They walked

in the country of their families’ shadows as they crossed

the Rio Grande into Chihuahua. They hitched

their feet to a raft of air and glided across the water behind

their loved ones, who, when the youngest one turned,

all turned and saw the fifteen men and boys wedded

to their 140 umbras darkening the future behind

their leaving. When asked if the fifteen were alive or dead,

the wind said, They are home. They are in your hands.

Final Poem for the Bullet