Lament…for those who live perched above the dump, constantly watched by venues of circling vultures
To the vultures, they are just food;
their deaths and their lives, fodder for the circling birds of prey.
From above they look like one mass.
Even from the churches crowning the crests,
they are only a mass, a ceremony, a ritual.
“Only wait,” they say.
“In heaven you will rise up,” they say.
But to Ana who leaves the crest and climbs down,
no mass-no mas-no more.
Ah, she says, I see you!
You are a person…and another;
a baby boy and a blooming girl and a dying grandmother.
So many, so many, so many
but not a mass.
One and one and one and one,
living in shacks that cling to the ravine walls;
smelling the rotting excess just below.
Yet, kissed by mothers and by the light;
seen by Creator; recognized by I AM.
O, my God, she cries out, I have seen your children suffering;
I cannot forget.
No longer am I one perched above, ignorant and innocent.
I am wailing; I am angry…
I am guilty.