AJ McGilbra

The Goddess gave
Each of her children
A gift in the dreamtime—
Their own languages
To play with.
The pains of the Midwest
And its fences
Can be likened
To the infamous tower,
Now crumbled,
Which once stretched into the clouds
Above the plains of Shinar.
Tongues of our ancestors
Lost, bastardized, neglected,
Beaten from our childrens’ lips
As punishment for rising
Flesh
From Coyote’s sticks
Wielding the languages of their clans.
The Holder of Heavens guided men
Across mountains, oceans, and rivers
With gifts given by the third son
Of Borr
(Ignoring Athena’s gift of understanding)
The secret, perfect langue verte
Remains hidden
And ravens no longer seek
To guide the young wolves
Uninitiated.