Poem
Amanda Hammar
The New Nation
The New Nation
The New Nation
For this our blood spilledon lichen-grizzled rocks.
Iron-scented tracings
freshly mark the landscape;
fragments of bone
earthbound before their time.
The soles of our feet curl
like burnt parchment
against your hot irons;
the skin on our backs patch-worked
by your crude tailor’s hand,
remaking us in your own image.
Our bruised faces swell
around our watchful eyes
waiting waiting
while your manhood
swells with pride
at its ill-begotten prize.
© 2002, Amanda Hammar
Poems
Poems of Amanda Hammar
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The New Nation
For this our blood spilledon lichen-grizzled rocks.
Iron-scented tracings
freshly mark the landscape;
fragments of bone
earthbound before their time.
The soles of our feet curl
like burnt parchment
against your hot irons;
the skin on our backs patch-worked
by your crude tailor’s hand,
remaking us in your own image.
Our bruised faces swell
around our watchful eyes
waiting waiting
while your manhood
swells with pride
at its ill-begotten prize.
The New Nation
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