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A tattered cloth hangs from the lowest branch
Of the mango tree: a newfound flag, lost and billowing,
Rising and falling like the sleeping baby’s coconut stomach,
And I am reminded of why we rise–
Lifting ourselves, like bread on the back patio,
Catching and releasing the punishing mountain heat.
Don’t forget how we raised our fists in defiance yesterday;
Kicked up the yellow dirt-dust in the salt-orange air.
Don’t forget the shouts– louder than the crack of machete
against sugar cane– ringing out in the streets.
How the day stood still– filling every corner of itself– while we all watched.
How the humidity ate up our shadows before the darkness did,
And the food went limp in our mouths. How
Fire danced between the night’s legs, mingling
among the trees;
Burning up our beloved mangoes and
blackening our flag.
MiC Columnist Muna Agwa can be reached at munaagwa@umich.edu
The post Fatherland appeared first on The Michigan Daily.
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