Donna Undone

Donna.
You Know my name is Donna.
Leave me alone.

You think you’re better than me
because your wife is porcelain.
Don’t you?
It wouldn’t hurt HER to work out in the sun sometimes.

(I catch sight of myself as they
drag me past a mirror.
Dang!
Sun damaged skin with no blood under it
looks BAD.
And the blood on top of it
doesn’t look good either.)

Yes. I did it!
I killed him.
I came up behind him and
sank my knife as far as I could
into his filthy, rich-white-trash,
child molesting back.

You think because I’m
not Latin, I can not experience passion?
How short your memory is, Enrique.

Before my husband –
before my daughter –
You saw that passion.
It manifested itself in Estephan.
Don’t tell me you didn’t know!
Don’t try to tell me you don’t remember!

Bastard.

Roll him over.
Let me see one last time
the face of your angel who
ruined my Angel.
I rejoice in having rid the world of him.
I’m GLAD.
GLAD.  You hear?

Wait.
No!
NO!
(Her screams reverberate off the walls;
off the pathways;
off the mountains.) 

That’s not your son.
That’s my son.
That’s OUR son!

Oh, God! (Oh, God! Oh, God!)
What have I done?