the root has persisted

and subsisted

clinging to the ridges

of a rigid infertile soil.


they imagined it was payment

for an ancient incident,

worshiping from the tutelage

of their toil.


i carried that serfdom

in the cradle of my womb,

a forced exodus to roam,

embedded in a koan

i could not read.


famished leaves know

that root dissolves stone,

and i hold my own

in the sustenance

of a vibrational tone

that resets the rest.


it is not the grinding

of the miller’s stone

that forms the loaves,

but the work of tender hands,

brought into an opulent land

by the force of Love alone.


© M.G. Iannucci 2018

Painting: “Last Dream Before Dawn” by Dorina Costras

2 thoughts on “Cochinilla

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