Stone People
Sometimes
I feel my throat
closing up
From the smoke of our
mother
My ears deafened by
the sounds of her cries
And I feel it,
The way that it hurts
And I feel it,
The way that we ache
It’s sometimes like
these times
That I hold a stone
person in my palm
And I bring them up to
my ear
And each time, they
whisper:
“I am your ancestor,
I’ve been here all
along
Rest the four corners
of your feet upon me
For my composition is
the same that you will find in your bones
The same that runs
through your veins
I am your ancestor,
I’ve been here a long,
long time”
This time,
I ask the stone person:
Panicky now,
Can I take you with me!?
Please, oh please,
Because I am lonely here, you see
I’m not sure you understand
I say,
Sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe
The smoke is getting thicker now
Smoke of Co2’s and CH4’s
Smoke of selfie sticks and
Selfishness
Of wastefulness
And ignorance is bliss
I’m in the generation of me, me, me
What can I do?
I’m just,
well,
Me…
The stone person,
again,
More slowly this time,
So I can really hear
her this time,
She says:
“I am your ancestor
I am your bones
I am your blood
I’ve been here a long,
long time
I’ve watched you grow
from stardust
And ocean sound
You’re in the
generation of indigo
And the earth has
asked for
And received for
The times ahead
Don’t be afraid
For its times like
these times,
We must be strong for
one another”
And playful now,
She half-jokes:
(Just like my
grandmother would do)
“How come you only
visit me when you want something?
Come talk with me more
As I said,
I’ve been here a long, long time
And I have stories to
tell.”
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