breaker of the wind

this ache's like a mincing,
a slow pressing under bluestone,
stoning in the public square.

a salted wound, strangleheld
with gerrymandered allegiances,
filibustering to the bitter end.

a constant wipe and re-setting
of our humanity, our empathy,
leaving ill institutional memory.

we learn from our hurts, to hurt;
from our gains, to covet power.
who will listen to the children?