if it’s true and all these years
after going off to war, after being
lost or dead, the old, stooped
man living in the hot, green village
whose language is gone and
whose children are grown and
their names long forgotten…
if it’s not just a story and instead
a truth (we draw fine lines so
that we may cross them) then who
else might emerge, grayed or
hobbled, sputtering pigeon USA
with new yellow children (old now
too) hauling forty years of forgotten
business into the light where
the hot, green village empties into
our delta, here, where a future
built on bones and banking begs
no forgiveness at all?
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