Because my ancestors chose to run

Every time I stand in my bones and feel
lost, a stranger; every time I shield my face in the dark

I know it is because my ancestors chose to run. To leave
no trace on the windowsills we passed through. Madiba,
if it were not for you…

I might have never learned to say, Fear,
I am not a lamb on your altar. This here I touch
with my body, make holy with language

all the arms of wreckage, this we who will not be moved.

—From “Poem for Prisoner #46664” in Salvage by Cynthia Dewi Oka

Photo: Taken from inside a night train near Pagerwojo, East Java, by Ikhlasul Amal, CC BY-NC 2.0