Poem to the Mummified Remains of a Chinchorro Mother and Child
The people who produce the poet are not responsible to him: he is responsible to them. — James Baldwin

Poem to the Mummified Remains Of a Chinchorro Mother and Child The people who produce the poet are not responsible to him: he is responsible to them. — James Baldwin I'm certain she hummed to him when she was dying, when, for a few breaths, she saw he was not breathing, her son, who crouches next to her now, in a sack cloth that's lost all its color, its pomegranate and pollen blossoms fading to the color of earth and water, the color of dirt we crawl from and to from the start of generations, from the touch of the first mother, father watching silently as his bride and first born follow each other toward the music. Perhaps it was he who placed the small clay pot near her in the sack cloth that holds their bones, perhaps it was he who bound their bones, prepared them, tenderly, remembering the curve of her body from a…
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