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100 hours, thousands of deaths. My great uncle lost an eye that day. An intense war briefly subsided for the yet to come 12 year atrocity. My parents’ parents fought against the guerillas, losing their voices. Helicopters and bullets flew alongside Torogoz and the wells overflowed with blood that rained from the sky that day. Bits and pieces of our neighbors piled on my mother’s homelands. Men camouflaged with masked principles, terrors of the nights tore into the hearts of their own people leading to mass destruction. The economy crashed raising poverty from the dirt roads. The colón was too little to fulfill the hunger in its bottomless bellies. The cries of the motherless mothers grieved for their children, as they were taken one by one. Each of my uncles, aunts, cousins, mother and father ran to the borders concealing their breaths under the stars in the midst of coyotes. Part of each one died and buried in their childhood home underneath the mango tree that took my mom’s arm. Roses and Izotes fill my father’s garden. God, Union, Liberty, flag of my origin stands side by side decades past Bravery, Purity, Justice, flag adopted into my family. In camouflage, my great uncles and grandfathers served, and my brother pledged fealty to the United States. Following in their footsteps, I wish to be a symbol of my parents' grief and hope, and my country’s resilience.

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