Not Land Worthy
The rising waters began to displace us,
the marshals commandeered the grounds.
Called it redistribution, more fair, they said.
There was a costly toll to use the soil.
So we took to the sea by the thousands.
Disenfranchised, we were water nomads
unprepared to provide for ourselves.
No one thought it would come to this.
We clung to the dinghies, and to each other,
our lives hung on pivots of crumbs and hopes.
Each day, fiendish hunger,
every night, a lullaby of languish.
Fatherless, without country or land
our mother, the water, rocked us to death.
The harbour, once rescuer and protector,
became our executioner in the end.
Brenda Bishop Blakey
Art: arc-angle , provided by the talented Ann Morriss Osgood, artist and poet.