I. To Those Who Died
If I had a glass to raise
I'd pour champagne on
Mass graves,
Shelves of skeletons,
Skulls in single layers filling
Church basements,
And soil in the coutryside
Where the burial sites
Have not yet been
Unearthed.
I'd give bubbly to the bones
Of those who died
Before their first taste.
To those who died,
Because they owned ten cows or more
And had milk with their meals
While neighbors drank water.
To those who died,
Because they didn't have enough
Banana wine
For bribes
To save their lives.
To those who died,
Because they didn't have enough
Time to hide.
Because they hadn't lied
About their father's tribe.
To those who died,
Because they wouldn't confide
Where their killers could find
Cockroaches on that hillside,
Neighbors who'd run before dawn,
Their cattle, grazing in hiding, and
Where their children had gone.
To those who died, for being
The taller man
The longer nose
The leaner build
The lighter skin,
The more beautiful women.
I'd toast to those who died.
II. To Those Who Survived
If I had a glass to raise
Of champagne,
I'd toast to those
Sitting around this table
Sixteen years later.
"Here's to being alive!"
A toast to those who survived.