GloPoWriMo – Song 8

Skips-in-Muddy-Puddles (When Slavery Ends)

When you were taken
from swamp, from egg-sister,
egg-brother, from the soft mud
of home

And hauled past volcanic ash
to frozen lands to
trek into stone
reaches of the Imperial City

When you were torn
from soft mud, from grub baskets
full, from the song
of the great Hist Tree
from home–

Stolen. Alone.
It is a life, anyway,
whether yours or none.

When slavery ends
you’re free.
You find you have
no desire to return.
The song of the Hist
is the song of the graht-oak,
of the cherry,
of the ash pine.

Aldmeri, Daggerfall, Ebonheart–
all one.
All people are as
your people and
the Hist as any other tree.

Now that you are free,
it matters not if you’re alone.

Wherever you are
is home.

Daily Prompt: “write a poem of gifts and joy. What would you give yourself, if you could have anything? What would you give someone else?” from Na/GloPoWriMo.

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