Bitter Buckwheat

Buckwheat, you’re silent and placidYou’re a vessel of the earthYou suck the milk of starsYou remember daytime’s blazing lightBuckwheat, you root yourselfin the most fertile places on the landYou’re a primitive metaphor and symbolYou’re the restless, rolling plateau sunBuckwheat, you’re filled with spiritualityYou’re the direction our fates determineYou’re an ancient languageYour weariness is a slowly approaching dreamIt’s only through prayers to youthat our poetic blessingsreach the spirits and our ancestorsBuckwheat, your invisible armsare gentle and slender, welong for your touch, we sing of youas if singing of our own mothers