Ethiopia

cradle of the Black Madonna, oh

dark Maria—

hunger falls on you

like a gardener’s rake falls

on rich, black soil,

for growing crops, but instead of harvests,

you weep for rain, hunger, and you birth death.

your children are

pop-eyed, bird-eyed little Lazaruses,

scarecrow limp,

bodies, testaments to emptiness,

eating itself full to death.