Tailtiu cleared the plains
So crops would grow.
She died, exhausted from her labor.
But the land flourished, and fed the people.
And the cycle emerges:
Labor and death. Death and labor.
And the ones who write the histories
Or those who exploit them,
Are the ones whose names are remembered.
The sweating brow and beating heart.
A wish for a better life.
Those stories are too often seldom told.
The sun sleeps this morning.
Sirens doppler by.
Here, in my town, children
Cry, separated from their parents.
Just south, men are caged.
They come from Southeast Asia.
They came, hoping for a fertile place.
For fields already plowed.
They came, fleeing guns and rape
And sudden death that comes at night.
They were met with guns.
*** [Read more…] about August