a transcription of the poem read on the home page of this issue

by Brenda Marie Osbey

we stand in line to receive our daily bread.
it has the taste of sand
like so much else in this country
where there is no sand.
we move along the red-bricked streets
all of one piece.
we stop from time to time
to stare at buildings.
we do not know
have never seen such riches
and such places — and so many —
for the storing up of riches.
we are numb.
we move about together — all of one piece.
we stand.
we stare.
we eat our bread of sand and then move on.

where are the young
the children
the very old
our holy men and women
and our saints?
where are our sacred objects?
the little gods to carry on our persons
now that the great god sleeps?
we do not ask these questions of one another.
we do not dare.
we know our own small piece of truth each one of us.
nor do we share such truths.

we look into one another’s eyes and faces
read nation, gods, wars.
we ask ourselves who will betray us today and whom we shall
betray and
for what cause?
we do not ask the things we need to know —

we do not dare.

we eat the bread of sand.
we move along the red-bricked streets
stare into faces —

nations, gods, and wars.

Poem copyright 2013 by Brenda Marie Osbey. All rights reserved.

See more poems from Brenda Marie Osbey on The Fight & The Fiddle: “In Memory of Katherine Foster, Free Negress, Late, of These Parts,” “Fieldwork,” and “City of Palms and Funky Dives.” 

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Read more in this issue: Interview | Critical Essay | Writing Prompt