the luams speak of god

If there is a god, let it be the hyena who plunges her mouth into the river after eating our grandfather’s poisoned bait, who, dark with thirst, poisons the river unbeknownst to both of them. Her ghosts stand in the street where we are called already through “time” out of our houses. She tells her stories. We tell her ours. We all clean our teeth with what is sharp. She asks,Will you add this story to your stories of history & land & peace? Yes, we will add this story. We ask her, Will you add these poems to your repertoire of songs about hunger & thirst & fur?& she, being wiser than we, says,Yes, I will sing them if you grant me your permission to turn them into poems about a mercy.