Ethiopia
cradle of the Black Madonna, oh
dark Maria—
hunger falls on you
like a gardener’s rake falls
on rich, black soil,
for growing crops, but instead of harvests,
you weep for rain, hunger, and you birth death.
your children are
pop-eyed, bird-eyed little Lazaruses,
scarecrow limp,
bodies, testaments to emptiness,
eating itself full to death.
Notes:
From Morning Glory (Eden Press, 1989). Reproduced with permission of Nina Rodgers Gordon.
This poem is part of the portfolio “Carolyn Marie Rodgers: What Beauty We Now Have” from the October 2022 issue.
Source:
Poetry
(October 2022)
