Thursday Poem

Los nadies: los hijos de nadie, los dueños de nada.
Los nadies : los ningunos, los ninguneados. —Eduardo Galeano

The Nobodies —excerpt

They rise from the dawn and dress.

They raise the bundles to their heads
And their shadows broaden—
Dark ghosts grounded to nothing.

They grin and grip their skirts.

They finger the gold and purple beads
Circling their necks, lift them
Absently to their teeth. They speak

A language of kicked stones.

And it’s not the future their eyes see,
But history. It stretches
Like a dry road uphill before them.

They climb it.

by Tracy K. Smith

from Duende
Graywolf Press, 2007)