LAW OF BREAD

We harvest with groaning threshers

in the field. Amputating chaff 

from kernel, we make war in the heartland. Soldier 

upon soldier will croon love songs as they moisten the grave

they suckled from birth; the martyr’s embrace of parents

without reprieve. Our work, one of necessary bloodletting. 

We dismantle lovers and fathers each from the other. Pleading

life given, we tramp forward wielding metal. The blade

hatches the grain and performs a hecatomb while we, 

midwives and executioners both, cast new seeds from skies above.

Always we replenish the fields we harrow 

under the cleaving law of bread. 

We reach our dirty fingernails into the mouth 

of the sacrifice. And find blood waiting there.