Post the Seventy-Second or The Sun still Rises

She tells me

“I am an old thing

Full of creaks, cracks and wood worn smooth

Full of recuerdos y canciones

Full of life but filled with the memories of the dead”

I ask her

What do you remember?

She tells me

“I remember

falling from my mother’s arm

and slowly poking my way up

through the brown soil

I remember

Growing tall

And reaching deep

I remember

Feeling the glory of the dawn each morning

And the restfulness of the dusk each evening

But I also remember

White men coming to my island

Needlessly felling my sisters

And uprooting the land for their consumption

I remember

The people that I used to shelter under my majestic boughs

Needlessly cut down by sword and disease

Families uprooted and enslaved for their profit

I remember

Weeping

When they brought people of black skin

From over the sea

To work in fields that ruined the land I so loved

Ruined the spirits of those who were so far from their own trees

I remember

A country fighting for independence

Only to be recolonized”

I remember-

Stop! I say

It is too much

I ask

How do you hold so much pain and not go insane?

She replies

“Insanity is the only appropriate response to genocide

But the Sun still Rises.”

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About witchymorgan

I'm a 22 year old womanist, sex positive, pansexual, polyamorous, queer, bruja, transwoman. Social justice activist by day, social justice activist by night. Fun! View all posts by witchymorgan

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