I hope to God you will not ask me to go
anywhere except my own country. If we go back, we will follow whatever orders
you give us. We do not want to go right or left, but straight back to our own
land.
—Barboncito
I hope to God you will not ask
Me or my
People to send
Postcard greetings: lamented wind
Of perfect sunrisings, golden
Yes, we may share the same sun
setting
But the
in-between hours are hollow
The People fill the void with
prayers for help
Calling upon the Holy Ones
Those petitions penetrate and
loosen
The binds you tried to tighten
Around our heart, a tension
Blocking the wind, like a shell
Fluttering inside, fluttering
inside
For more information about the poet, Esther Belin, see:
https://poets.org/poet/esther-belin
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