The Meadow 91 hunger for their attention & the machetes cut a path to everywhere but away from the trouble brewing up above their heads when bare feet—too light to leave footprints—fell sole up & pots were no longer used for cooking & men felt burdened to trade secrets for one more breath on the day when the wind delivered bullets & laid bodies between earth’s folds when baskets meant for food carried kin down rivers through valleys into oceans & transformed dreams into bloated corpses floating to their final resting place under a kinder, gentler sun on that day & the day after tongues thirsted for the ways of old: when at the end of a red-dirt road there was home.
RkJQdWJsaXNoZXIy ODQ3NA==