Rivers of Blood

We are all provisional in this world,
And in these islands.

Even those who still live
In their very delivery room
Attached to the stirrups of the bed
onto which they were expelled
from their mothers’ womb.
Those who still haven’t mopped up their amniotic fluid.

We are all provisional in this world,
And in these islands.

Even those who behave
Like if it was their own merit
To have been born
In a certain spot,
Like a (sweet) potato who takes credit
For the choice of the plot where she was planted.

We are all provisional in this world,
And in these islands.

Even those who planned very carefully
Where precisely to move
Using a spreadsheet to calculate
The lowest income tax
And the highest wage for their trade.

Even those
Who simply ended up
Overstaying in a green and kind place
Where they arrived by pure accident
(Which is actually what happened to me).

Even those who saw themselves
Forced to flee their place of birth,
Sieged by the chaos brought about
By hunger, war and capitalism,
Those who hide from misery or death.

Even those who simply dream with new faces,
New horizons, new air.

We are all provisional in these islands,
And in this world.

Because we are the Rivers of Blood
Feeding the Oceans of Hope.

Copyright © 2016. Tony Martin-Woods
Todos los derechos reservados. All rights reserved.
First published in Contra. Poesía ante la Represión. Coordinadora Anti-Represión Región de Murcia. 2016. Murcia