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

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.


Photo used under CC.

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