WE ARE STILL HERE

 

We are still here, do you understand,

standing amidst the mountains

of rubble where our children now play,

their faces reflected in the shattered glass

of storefronts and depots, the stagnant

water filling in the tracks behind you.

We have scorched the earth to ash

in order to welcome you, burned down

the humble homes our fathers built

so that you may not know their comfort.

There will be no bed for you here,

no rooms for you to enter, not a single

floorboard for you to walk upon.

For we are still here, do you understand,

singing the old songs and the new,

whistling past the graveyards you have

built as swiftly as we can fill them.

We have, you will see, made room there

for you. We are not uncivilized.

We give you seeds to fill your pockets.

We build statues of you in the snow.

We stand, you will come to know,

as the deep forest stands, unyielding,

breathing in the entirety of sky at once.

We are still here, as even you can plainly see.

We will continue to be here until not

a single blade of grass remains,

nor a single mayfly buzzing in flight,

nothing but the breath that breathes life

into these words, however simple,

upon which we will stand, beginning anew.