poem to a photograph

                                         p h  o  t o   b y    s  v e  t  l  a  n  a      a  n t o n y a  n



caged dead

they say
the dead are turning
in their graves
unable to rest
their earth turned bones
constantly gutted
by bombs
shells
drills
for coal
for copper
for gold
for diamonds
for oil

they say
the dead are turning
in their graves
can't sleep
to the weeping
of their children
losing lands
above their heads
rivers
of dead fish
discadred
on shores
apricot trees
forced
to produce fruit
fast

they say
the dead are turning
in their graves
burning
from poisons
seeping into dirt
chemicals
plastic
pesticide
heavy
metal
oil spills
under ocean
floors

they say
the dead are caged
in their graves
chained to
a memory
produced
and reproduced
by their children
and their children's
children
and generations
after that
forgetting
to break
cycles
of the living
and seek wisdom
from the dead