We squeeze onto scarce patches of flat land
hidden atop wet green peaks
thrust into sun-infused mists of hung drizzle.
Evasive eyes, held-in voices, wet wool and felt hats
in greys, browns, olives.
We live in quiet fear, simmering frustration.
The pains and horrors are not only in the hot tropics far below us
or in the long-ago tales of our fathers.
They haunt us for life,
as present is never rid of past,
hidden atop wet green peaks
thrust into sun-infused mists of hung drizzle.
Evasive eyes, held-in voices, wet wool and felt hats
in greys, browns, olives.
We live in quiet fear, simmering frustration.
The pains and horrors are not only in the hot tropics far below us
or in the long-ago tales of our fathers.
They haunt us for life,
as present is never rid of past,
and the little violences of every day
continue amid apparent peace.
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