A poem to accompany "The Disappeared"

"The Colonel" (From The Country Between Us, by Carolyn Forche.)

What you have heard is true. I was in his house. His wife carried a tray
of coffee and sugar. His daughter filed her nails, his son went out
for the night. There were daily papers, pet dogs, a pistol on
the cushion beside him. The moon swung bare on its black cord over
the house. On the television was a cop show. It was in English.
Broken bottles were embedded in the walls around the house to scoop
the kneecaps from a man's legs or cut his hands to lace. On the
windows there were gratings like those in liquor stores. We had
dinner, rack of lamb, good wine, a gold bell was on the table for
calling the maid. The maid brought green mangoes, salt, a type of
bread. I was asked how I enjoyed the country. There was a brief
commercial in Spanish. His wife took everything away. There was some
talk then of how difficult it had become to govern. The parrot said
hello on the terrace. The colonel told it to shut up, and pushed
himself from the table. My friend said to me with his eyes: say
nothing. The colonel returned with a sack used to bring groceries
home. He spilled many human ears on the table. They were like dried
peach halves. There is no other way to say this. He took one of them
in his hands, shook it in our faces, dropped it into a water glass.
It came alive there. I am tired of fooling around he said. As for
the rights of anyone, tell your people they can go fuck themselves.
He swept the ears to the floor with his arm and held the last of the
wine in the air. Something for your poetry, no? he said. Some of the
ears on the floor caught this scrap of his voice. Some of the ears
on the floor were pressed to the ground.