Anna

I stared at the cup of tea
The stewardess had placed before me.

It was one of those exotic herbals
That was supposed to be beneficial
For one thing or another,
But so far it had not done its job.

I was still on edge,
My mind buzzing from one thought
To another like a restless bee,
But it still returned to one thought.

Where is Anna?

The last time I saw her,
We were at the airport
Saying our goodbyes.
She was going to her father
For summer and I hugged her
So tight resisting letting her go.

I should have held on,
I should never have let her go.

Her father is dead,
His home is ransacked
And Anna is gone.

“Are you here on vacation?
Or are you here for business?”
The immigration officer’s words
Cut through the fog in my head.

“I came for my daughter.”

“Is she studying here?
Does she live here?
Is she here on vacation?”

“She was kidnapped here.”

His face was a slideshow of emotions.
Shock.
Confusion.
Recognition.
Comprehension.
Sympathy.

He stamped my passport
And wished me luck.

It was a wasted wish,
Three days later,
I stood over Anna’s body,
Too numb to cry,
Too hurt to speak.

I signed the paperwork,
Arranged the flights
And as quietly as I entered,
I left the small country.

It was only when I was at home,
A week after Anna was buried
That I cried.

I cried until no more tears came,
Until I plotted a way
To kill the man that killed
The only family I had.

Six months later,
An unidentified was found dead
In the small country.

It was obvious that
He had been tortured
And he was missing a molar
That could not be found
At the place where he died.

That said molar
Was buried with a Colt 45
Three feet above the coffin
Of a young woman
Who was called
Anna.