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Poem

Somewhere between Easter Island and 
Santiago skims an ocean skiff loaded with
slumped islanders bound within the teetering
cargo hold. In the distance can be seen the
eyes of seven monolithic faces defending
islanders from the fury of volcanoes.

One boy sits in line with the rest of the
villagers, sobbing for the loss of his home,
his mother and his freedom. Another ship bobs
into his field of vision on occasion, and he
can’t help but pray his father still survives
somewhere inside that mottled vessel.

Agony punctuates every moment of
peril and punishment at his captor’s hand;
in fact, the dogs laugh and taunt with impunity
the new animals they’ve captured and chained
for profit like so many husks of wheat: the
fruit of the stalk gets threshed without

mercy until each soul becomes a tiny
kernel of energy waiting to be pounded into
powder for consumption. The boy avoids their
glance as he centers his rage into a knot of power
ready to pounce with vengeance, fists balled
beneath his chest, channeling their arrogance,

their cruelty, their ignorance. Before
docking, the boy helps hurl the corpses
into the mirrored rage of the sea, narrowing
his eyes but not daring to reveal defiance to his
captors. Linked together in struggle, they
are tossed into cages to be auctioned off.

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