When Fear Died In Honduras

alone in a shed
Honduras night en el campo
the countryside, half a mile from
others, people, mestizo
Spanish-speaking

the sound of my cot terrifies me
squeaking silence, my lockless shed
man after man, I imagine them
one bearded, one drunk, one twice my size
each coming through the door to kill me

fear, as my knees push into the cot
10pm, How long will I be afraid? I wonder
Will I stay up all night pondering my demise?
Will anyone hear me struggle, hear me die?
20 years old, not ready to go

but this goes on for forty minutes, maybe an hour
until finally
He’s not coming in, this fear
and if he does
I will kill him, or he will kill me.
simple
then fell sound asleep