I love this poem. I’ve written about it before, also at a time where the scale and brutality of police violence had my head spinning. You can find the full poem in my favorite poetry anthology (which also happens to be on sale at the University of Texas Press website right now), but the words that keep running through my head today are Neruda’s final refrain:
I’M EXPLAINING A FEW THINGS (excerpt)
see my dead house,
look at broken Spain :
from every house burning metal flows
instead of flowers,
from every socket of Spain
and from every dead child a rifle with eyes,
and from every crime bullets are born
which will one day find
the bull’s eye of your hearts.
And you’ll ask: why doesn’t his poetry
speak of dreams and leaves
and the great volcanoes of his native land?
Come and see the blood in the streets.
Come and see
The blood in the streets.
Come and see the blood
In the streets!