Still, the farmers keep harvesting grain.
Still, I listen to talk radio in silence.
Still, the field.
Still, the mountain.
Still, my heart clenches
for some long-ago now.
!['[Momma I Can't Sleep]', by Taffeta Chime](https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/59aef3bacd39c38dabcb0dc2/1776962464627-JTCWT4HERCQJJDTNULE6/pexels-alvaro-diaz-759268072-30450865.jpg)
I understand, sweetie.
Parched for a different life.
Thinking through what-ifs,
brokenness of reality,
audacity of US.
And you make so much light in me.
Even if no children come from our us.
I ask again,
Does the moon opt
To shine differently on
Those who are born elsewhere
call it an extermination campaign
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