I wrote Dust Angel 10 years ago, and it still applies. Ive been to Yiwu, saw how they toiled. This poem is a present for those who made our Xmas possible stars, diamonds, tears of hearts sand and cut, cut and sand shrouded in silicon fog we string beauty with corn husking hands bracelets, necklaces, rings day and night, night and day we bend over screeching wheels making trinkets for USA saints, gods, Buddha rush down the belt at a dizzying speed a quarter cent a piece--price of our hands, nation’s pride a civilization eating us alive opal, malachite, topaz stones from deep--sold cheap at Wal-Mart our lungs harden from quartz crystals our lives weigh less than dust we cough and wheeze we gasp for air walking half a block they say we fake sickness have never worked in their factories they hire lawyers to erase our names, ban our union Marx and Mao are history, they claim only freedom of market economy the golden path towards democracy no money to go home no face to see parents, wives, children all bridges collapsed-- we loiter in hospitals, courts we pray not to die in this strange land dust angels, dust angels who wear the stars and hearts strung with our tears? Who make a fortune from our wretched breath? who will see us-- of all the Buddha and saints carved out of our bodies all the eyes of Mary and Jesus painted in our blood theguardian/artanddesign/architecture-design-blog/2014/dec/19/santas-real-workshop-the-town-in-china-that-makes-the-worlds-christmas-decorations?CMP=ema_565
Posted on: Sun, 21 Dec 2014 18:10:23 +0000
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