offering

Now you distribute
the melted fat in the pan.

Sing me a new song,
God of my fathers,
God of the rains
and the fried meats.

The sons of the desert
have drowned in boiling oil,
the promised offerings
lost in blowing sand.

Ask the women to tell
their side of the story.

Distribution of flour,
butter, two kilograms meat,
and a kilo of ground coffee.

Now we among you retire,
at long last, from wandering.

The sons of our fathers
cowered behind the skirts
of prosperous women.

What souvenirs do we bring
out of the desert? From
collecting the sand in
the soles of our shoes?

End the telling and come in,
come in and leave the offering.

We were frightened when
we ran from the empire.
Now we are comfortable,
and seated quietly at home.

A miracle happened here...

6/3/2006