Colcha

bones of my people

19 bones of my people i am here where the faces become a two lane road one whispers east to the testimonial light of new day the other tugs me west toward the dying red sun of our past bleached and forgotten the marrow of my people’s bones has become a map to the mesmerized romantics who do not listen to the whisper of their hollow voiceless stare they ask when we began running as a means to slim our souls when it was that we became so like the red sun that sets upon our walls how it was that we sold what had just been stolen and they ask that we not love the new more than we hate the old they whisper of the oldest bones that are my people they say that these bones are reminders of life life that was or will never be again 20 this is what the bones say they remind us that we are as flesh to them as they are marrow to our souls they beg that we never forget who we are ...