[GUANTÁNAMO] DOESN'T WORK

by Ron Riekki

“Guantánamo is probably the number one recruitment tool 

that is used by these Jihadist organizations.” 

—former President Barack Obama 

 

“Don’t tell me it doesn’t work. 

Torture works, 

OK, folks?  Torture— 

Half these guys [say]: ‘Torture doesn’t work.’ 

Believe me, it works. Okay?” 

—former President Donald T. 

 

6,000 people work at Guantánamo. 

Close to 6,666 people work at Guantánamo. 

Roughly 6,666 people work at Guantánamo. 

9 people killed at Guantánamo.  Roughly. 

A cardiac arrest at Guantánamo.  Roughly. 

A death by cancer at Guantánamo.  Roughly. 

 

Seven suicides at Guantánamo.  Roughly. 

Rags in the throats of the suicides.  Yes, rags. 

Rags in the throats of the suicides?  Yes, 

rags in the throats of the suicides. And eyes? (See

Rage Against the Machine’s “Vietnow” throat quote:

cages.) Go Geronimo with this Guantánamonow.

 

Called Gitmo, if you twist the language, if you 

distort the language, if you torture the language, 

then it becomes GTMO.  Git, an unpleasant 

or contemptible person.  “That mean ol’ git.” 

Don’t call him that.  What should I call them? 

You will call them ‘detainees;'

 

you will not call them prisoners. 

They will call out for their mothers, call 

out for their grandmothers, call out for their ancestors. 

You will not call them children; 

You will call them ‘juvenile enemy 

combatants.’  They will not be allowed 

 

to call home.  On the outside, it’s supposed 

to say HONOR BOUND, but it looked like 

HORROR BOUND the first time I saw it. 

We spend 5.6 billion dollars on Guantánamo.  

And 5.6 billion less synapses after 

chronic traumatic encephalopathy. 

 

Difficult to count after traumatic brain injury. 

6,000.  666.  9.  3.  1.  0.  0?  Mouthlike, but 

you don’t call out for your mother when you’re dead. 

You don’t call out for your ancestors 

with a rag in your throat.  Rage.  Honor, 

beating, hooding, waterboarding, bound. 

Ron Riekki co-edited Undocumented: Great Lakes Poets Laureate on Social Justice (Michigan State University Press).

CUSTOMS AND CONCENTRATION

by Peleg Held

Child migrants sleeping on the ground at the McAllen, Texas Border Patrol station. —NowThis, May 19 2019

A scapegoat tkhine, the sound of the note
thinned into air, red string at the throat—
its knot sung to sleep in a clavicled swale—
marking her, keeping her, outside the Pale,
the deep-drumming pigment that lodged in the heart
the night that she drank down the well of their art,
the dregs of the umbra that darkened the mat
Tenemos preguntas, the click of the latch,
the last strand of horse-hair plucked from a bow
sung out through rosin, then cinder, then snow,
salt dropped like breadcrumbs while good people slept
in the town with a desk where papers are checked
and cages of souls who once dreamed across fire
covered on stone as the cold law requires.


Peleg Held lives in Portland, Maine with his partner and his dog Emitt. There is also the semi-feral cat, Smudge. And a kid or two. pelegheld(at)gmail.com.