By Adonis Hornoz (Poetry)

Child,

in the radiance of your eyes
staring at me
I see them, your father and
your father’s father and
all of your great-grandfathers,
singing and playing intricate bamboo strings
cheering, clapping around me with women carrying
their children.

Adlaw they called me,
after the sun.

They knelt before me
for I provided the blessings they desired,
offered a flower, fruit, or coin from their heart
in times of sickness,
cried for mercy,
for rain, for the demon spirit to be driven away.

Everyone talked to me though I didn’t talk to them
and only smiled with bold and open eyes.

I was carved
with your forefather’s sweat.
My brows are thickened.
My skin is dead.

The history of your race, in my memory, is clear,
for I’ve been in every house all day
for more than a century.
I’ve seen your people die and grow.
I was always placed with care
on a table with flowers and lighted candles.
Now I stand on the same spot
with dust all over my body.

Child,

I know you.
Do you know me?