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part that gives what is left
away. As if released,
a stone—as from
a sling. The landscape opening as if no end to it,
a longing anywhere
for some resistance, some
stop: the magnolia, its ring of bird-ravaged
the birds themselves, a wind lifting
a collar of feathers at the neck of each—stiff
Elizabethan. Clarity, versus
Not, it seems,
the cries of joy. Not punishment—think
in terms of, instead,
persuasion. Silo, through which
the rains, passing,
pass unimpeded. Hunger
versus the pursuit of it. That’s what they say.
With time, with wear,
the leather softening. They say
the legs go here. The straps adjust.
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Both regulators and employers have embraced new technologies for on-the-job monitoring, turning a blind eye to unjust working conditions.
But I do miss the hymns, / the small, hard apples with their dimpled skin. I do miss / things.
The vast hinterlands of the Global South’s cities are generating new solidarities and ideas of what counts as a life worth living.