When we walk from the sea

Along the river

Filling with tides,

We will bend down

To plant rice in mud

That was here before

We came. Water

Touching roots, growing

Beyond memory.


We will pass



Of the enslaved.

The earth holds

Their names

The way it holds rain.


We will dig through

Centuries until

We find them,

Bent to the earth

Bent to the water

We will plant rice

Beyond the numbers

Beyond the names.