Damien of Moloka‘i

 

They say we are cursed by God — that is why

the king sends his tax collectors to take

us away from our mothers, and they cry

“Unclean! Unclean!” when the first pustules break

the skin, and everyone knows what will come

in turn — the lost fingers and toes, the rot

and reek of walking death. We hear the drums

at night, remember life and what we’re not.

It’s true — we were luckless, lost when he came.

We drank and fought and swore, we didn’t care —

but he cared. He loved us and said we must

love ourselves, share our bread, drink from the same

cup — sick or strong, we all breathe the same air.

He said he came to become one of us.

 

 

© Michael Fleming

Brattleboro, Vermont

December 2017

 

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