If my sorrow were deeper <br />I'd be, along with you, under <br />the ocean's floor; <br />but today I learn that the oil <br />that pools beneath the ocean floor <br />is essence <br />residue <br />remains <br />of all our <br />relations <br />all <br />our ancestors who have died and turned to oil <br />without our witness <br />eons ago. <br />We've always belonged to them. <br />Speaking for you, hanging, weeping, over the water's edge <br />as well as for myself. <br />It is our grief <br />heavy, relentless, <br />trudging <br />us, however resistant, <br />to the decaying and rotten <br />bottom of things: <br />our grief bringing <br />us home.<br /><br />Alice Walker<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/turning-madness-into-flowers-1/
