We’re really in a very small place
and those old enough to remember
know how hard it was
We’re glad it’s over
We don’t want returns to the past
Even what was taken from us
We express our thanks
just to see fields ripen
freshen the air
exchange glances with deer in the shadow of
the implicated grove
just to hear the lathes grind again in the workshops
to see flatbreads pile up in front windows
long-lost books back in the stalls
instead of what piled up before
They all left long ago
Those responsible
or so the niches in the moldy walls whisper back to us
sometimes
The quiet wind over the hillock
The fences whitewashed again
It’s not as if everything’s the same
There are roads you don’t travel down
Certain words dropped from the language
perfectly good words before
words for what they dragged away
Questions don’t have easy answers
you must understand
Traces may well be found
but we won’t know
When they left
they looted conviction
Andy Oram is a writer and editor in the computer field. His editorial projects have ranged from a legal guide covering intellectual property to a graphic novel about teenage hackers. Print publications include The Economist, the Journal of Information Technology & Politics, and Vanguardia Dossier. His poems have been published in Ají, Arlington Literary Journal, Conclave, Genre: Urban Arts, Heron Clan, Offcourse, Panoply, Soul-Lit, and Speckled Trout Review.