Thursday, July 6
TO MY ANCESTORS
We've grown about four inches over the last
one hundred and fifty years (I thought you'd like
to know). We've made these weapons that
could end all life (sorry). We carry candlelight
in our pockets. Well, I can't explain it all,
but there's a sense the end is near.
My friend (may I call you that? The salt
of the earth), I want to know the things you feared,
I want to know if anything has changed.
Have we always been such simple water
creatures grabbing anything in reach, scared
the sun will suck us into the sky? My father
doesn't like to talk about what's gone,
that's why I hide you under my tongue.
(Brent Ameneyro)