We will not forget the evil eye <br />of the storm they raised, <br />gutting the grounds we defended. <br />We have been trained <br />to look away too often <br />when man’s flesh, muscle, bone, <br />knifed woman, to protect <br />the child’s eye from the dust <br />of the lord’s sin against <br />our kind, pretending <br />our tears are daughters of the wind <br />blowing across no-woman’s- land. <br />We have had to seek the center <br />of the storm in the land we claim <br />is ours, too. Faces keening towards <br />the full force of winds <br />once blinding us, we see <br />the blur of broken earth, <br />blasted wastes, damned seas. <br />Our vision clears in our weeping <br />We have joined the trek <br />of desert women, humped over <br />from carrying our own oases <br />in the claypots of our lives, <br />gathering broken shards we find <br />in memory of those who went <br />ahead of us, alone. <br />When we seize the watersource <br />our ranks will complete the circle <br />we used to mark around our tents, <br />making homes, villages, temples, <br />schools, our healing places. <br />And we will bear witness for <br />our daughters and sons, <br />telling them true stories <br />of the caravan.<br /><br />RIC S. BASTASA<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/caravan-of-the-water-bearers-by-marjorie-evasco/
