Somewhere between Easter Island and <br />Santiago skims an ocean skiff loaded with <br />slumped islanders bound within the teetering <br />cargo hold. In the distance can be seen the <br />eyes of seven monolithic faces defending <br />islanders from the fury of volcanoes. <br /> <br />One boy sits in line with the rest of the <br />villagers, sobbing for the loss of his home, <br />his mother and his freedom. Another ship bobs <br />into his field of vision on occasion, and he <br />can’t help but pray his father still survives <br />somewhere inside that mottled vessel. <br /> <br />Agony punctuates every moment of <br />peril and punishment at his captor’s hand; <br />in fact, the dogs laugh and taunt with impunity <br />the new animals they’ve captured and chained <br />for profit like so many husks of wheat: the <br />fruit of the stalk gets threshed without <br /> <br />mercy until each soul becomes a tiny <br />kernel of energy waiting to be pounded into <br />powder for consumption. The boy avoids their <br />glance as he centers his rage into a knot of power <br />ready to pounce with vengeance, fists balled <br />beneath his chest, channeling their arrogance, <br /> <br />their cruelty, their ignorance. Before <br />docking, the boy helps hurl the corpses <br />into the mirrored rage of the sea, narrowing <br />his eyes but not daring to reveal defiance to his <br />captors. Linked together in struggle, they <br />are tossed into cages to be auctioned off.<br /><br />John Weber<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/tangata-manu-the-birdmen/
