Sport 40: 2012
Broken
Broken
Moorish broken ground they called hag,
and ill-tempered women. And hag also
to wield clumsily a knife. When we came
there were not houses or lush plains.
Nor butchers. My sister is hollow-eyed.
Muslin-mouthed with a man’s muscles.
In the shed carcasses hang like ornaments.
They sway in the wind. Each evening
we scrub the floor. Mop out the blood,
and the black insects that gather there,
and have lived that day their entire lives.