Lucas Chib

Her country is clandestine words

her country is clandestine words
lost languages
that moist air carries in bubbles
place your feet on her footprints
you will learn
cycles happen only because
memory’s destiny is vapor
to this there is no refuge
is forgetting a willful exercise
or is it time’s doing?
there is always someone doing god’s work
the great commission
down and dirty mechanics of erasure
in a court where the sole speaker of a language long gone
is declared mentally unstable, a total locura
is the judgment an expression of terror
that comes with such an immense encounter?
surely there must be eyes watching
waiting to bestow a language
that once walked here

Lucas Chib lives in New York. His work has appeared in Lyre Lyre, Ping Pong & Callaloo

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