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Charlotte Peters Rock
Charlotte Peters Rock

Chinchorro at the shore


He took our elder son

- who looks like him -

down to the shore

and I said Please

our son is young


but he said Yes

and he must learn

where fish are waiting

- and our son’s eyes shone


The waves were high

and they so fragile near the water

Our son was waving

as they walked below the hill


I saw the ocean heave

into the distant air

I knew the gods were angry

- my son so young


I shouted but they could not hear

My voice roaring out to warn

was like a sea bird in its nest


On came the heaving ocean

one wave much higher than the palms

and then my cry was silenced

as he and our son

- who looks like him -

were taken


Our daughter still prepares

the fish for their return

She didn’t understand my screams

How will I tell her


The ocean- from the gods’ displeasure

will strip their bones

of all their roundness


Her father - who could take the fish

build up our house of reed

and stroke her shining hair -


will never wear the blackened face

nor join my son

(Too young to die)


(Too old to die an infant)

straight-sleeping in the sand

his bones packed out with earth


And I can’t weave the mourning reed

to wrap around the son I bore

the man who warmed my body

Anti Playdead
Anti Playdead

if i ever go to Chile and meet one of these grannies it would be killer

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