For M. P. Poem by RIC BASTASA

we have so many things in common

our brown color for instance
our sunken eyes

bodies deformed with so much
pressure
hands that no longer tremble
because time made the fingers
steel

we are deprived of the crown due
to our
severed heads

they toast for their success
in defrauding us of our
honors

soon, soon, we have waited long enough

the mountains flatten
the sea shall bloat

soon, soon, our names shall no longer be carved
in sand

soon, soon, we shall become a constellation that marks
the paths of heaven