in the belly of god

i am quietly weeping
cinnamon and ash

it is ok to weep here
and with ancient joy

and with each imaginary arrow 
i pull out of my body

a stolen laughter
is returned 

* 

the war 

turned the fish into screams
and the birds into priests

children now speak to ghosts
in their beds

*

when the sun rose

the crows took the dark away
and placed it in the trees

and in the hollow places
in our vows

*

the bleeding

was for nothing the birds 
repeated as they cleaned

the black off the bones
of our dead 

but nothing was clean
ever again

*

but our holy people

told us to kill we said
but our leaders told us to kill

we said but we killed our
own brothers and salted

our fields with our
tears

*

the crows

would not reply
they only would bring a shiny

word to the children who walked
to school alone who lost

their gods in the 
fires

*

those of us who 

were left had no way to pray
except to the ones who always

doubted the ones 
who could not kill 

in the name of idols
the prayers were silent

and silver

*

the children kept us 

from walking into the fire
ourselves that we did not protest

the war that we allowed the men
to follow beasts with godmasks

that we did not rip the masks 
from their fangs and tusks

*

the birds knew

the way back to the belly
of god the children had never left

even with bloodhands 
they knew that the lies had never

reached them that the speeches
were poison that the money

was a ruse

*

and here i am again

weeping for what i have always known
the silence is the only prayer

for our wounded human family
the old wounds now reopened

the scars now songs the songs
now survival

*

sing with me

we have lost our skins
we have learnt this too late

we split inward at our throats
and sing for flight for our open  

cleaved hearts for a way to hold 
ourselves together

to believe in wings again 
a black howl in the center 

of our light