we whose umbilical chords

were kidnapped at birth

stolen by scalpels

scurried and hurried

down linoleoum floors

under neon lights

whose radient beams

threatened to blind our connection

to sight

we who were introveneously fed

images of violence and exploitation

projectected on silver screens

that battled our active imaginations

for places to hide

we whose cities are built on the graves

of fallen forests

whose rivers are buried beneath concrete

orphaned children of the sun, nourished by grandmother moon

we who, pushed further away from our origins

by babylons boisterous war cries

are awakening

are being called back to the earth by some distant song

echoing into our ancient bellies

i see young men and women longing for initiation

into a village whose roads and ridges,

whose ceremony’s and rituals,

whose stories and dances are still lingering

in the ears of old women

spinning thread on chairs that swing like pendulums

i see my longing heart desperately digging its smooth fingers

back into the microbial soil

in search of some semblance of roots and worms

digging thirsty in search of a water table