The shovels stand to hand like spears
And clays are the people’s ramparts
Though the ocean took their homes
and the tides their land
they do not lag at their toil
and when the sun goes down
then their obsidian skin shines with renewed strength
The eyes of the face jug stare like deities in reserve
its teeth arrayed for battle
to avenge broken promises
and crushed lives
Then the centuries that froze into
pillared plantation citadels
teeter in the face of those
blind Samson eyes that never close
Andy Oram
June 17, 2024