After Survival

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resides in their universe –
and canonical precedents.

I’m with out.
In mine, the gritty cut
of obstinance –
bitter, wakeful distrust
poking hollows in murk.

I walk a century of others –
perpetual visitant of the land.
I am witch without medicine.
I dream with no tongue.

Is this contentment?

I was impatient once.
Right –
without proof.

Or numbness?

Survival is the strategy of the patient –
also the timorous.

Tell me Black Elk,
did your dream bear deliverance unto your children?
Must I hazard evisceration?
Apprise them –
my untruths?

My children
should not survive!

They should walk this earth
– equal!

more by JUN HUA EA

Photograph by Sven Schlager

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