Monopolized Melancholia
MAY 13, 2025
Orchards of melancholia that rustle with deep voices
That belly of our past
Because we are not taught our roots
Only intrinsic violence.
As it were, not so muddy
Like the water that sings in the levy
Maybe we might know this land
And be able to call it home.
Instead, I’ve spent my life running
Away from shallow graves
And the lies I’ve been force-fed
Like the electricity that runs through a head.
Though I’ve not forgotten these whipped backs
Nor have I, the braided grasses
And animal bones laid as necklaces
Or the skin of a bull draped across a traveler’s back.
All the same as I remember war
For the violence that was taught
By bleeding eyes and force-feeding
As peasantly sheep in cages.
When we all remember home
As being born in a valley
Where the crow sings its cawing lullaby
And the sun shines high
Upon all the acid rain of our monopolized history as if to say ‘good try’. 