These teeth are sharp
Made of stone and wire
The first men used them
To kill the first women
Sorrow then descended
Like sundown
On the sweet world
Wisdom became
Violence
Humor became the lies
We tell our mothers
Killing made
The killing men lighter
Feathers in the hands
Of their friends
Killing made
The dying women heavier
A chain of words in the hands
Of their friends
This is what the words
Of the dying women said:
Tell them
We have met
On the plains
Of summer
And left there
What we loved best
The smiling babies
The full wooden bowls.
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