Babel

They lay in distress,
crying

what has happened?

faces down, palms up,
ready to receive an answer.

It would not come that way,
but later, when they’d risen
and brushed dust
from their good clothes,
they turned back to see
and understood.

There was silence at first
as dust continued to swirl and settle
into crevices and throats,
stifling and muffling
and changing how they spoke,
what words they used,
the words themselves.

It is filthy, some said.  No,
it is impolite, said others.  It is
relegation. No, it is
stagger unbroken though bare trees
to the clearing and build a bonfire.
It’s hit you, hit them, hit there, there,
there and sign there.  Flag here,
scar there, bridge here, bomb there.

They resume the position — face down,
but palms down this time to grab the earth
like loose carpet and say again:

what has happened?