//creative//
Spring 2022
Spring 2022
Danelle Tuchman
a story told by endless rows of gravestones
we are a people born from mourning together
a community build from gatherings surrounding graves
so many graves line the hills its hard to watch the sunset
we still gather to watch the sunset
momentarily convince ourselves that the shadows they make are simply figments of our imagination
or the teeth in god’s crooked smile
this way we can convince ourselves that he is smiling
that something out there is smiling at us
the gravestones could circle the earth if they needed to
like the sketches of children holding hands
to spread love and peace and prosperity
to every inch of the earth that they tread
we are a people who match children to the ever-present gravestones
the only thing as constant as death
is life
the way we are our ancestors revenge
or a result of a covenant that means continuity
proof that millennium of suffering will not negate continuity
we are a people from so many places
sustained by bread from so many tables
the kneading of which is a rebellion on its own
history flavors each strand of our bread’s signature braid
i was told it my duty to watch the bread rise
my mother kneaded the dough
my grandmother measured ingredients
my great grandmother risked her life to scavenge for eggs
i was told it my duty to raise a daughter to take the bread out of the oven
to feed it to those in need
to mark it as a centerpiece for the table that generations of my people have sat around
millions perished simply because their heritage allowed them a seat
millions more were lost in attempts to defend it
gravestones litter our table like scrabble pieces
i was told if you squint you can make out the words we are trying to spell
each letter holds a question and an answer
a memory and a prayer
we are a people born from mourning together
a community build from gatherings surrounding graves
so many graves line the hills its hard to watch the sunset
we still gather to watch the sunset
momentarily convince ourselves that the shadows they make are simply figments of our imagination
or the teeth in god’s crooked smile
this way we can convince ourselves that he is smiling
that something out there is smiling at us
the gravestones could circle the earth if they needed to
like the sketches of children holding hands
to spread love and peace and prosperity
to every inch of the earth that they tread
we are a people who match children to the ever-present gravestones
the only thing as constant as death
is life
the way we are our ancestors revenge
or a result of a covenant that means continuity
proof that millennium of suffering will not negate continuity
we are a people from so many places
sustained by bread from so many tables
the kneading of which is a rebellion on its own
history flavors each strand of our bread’s signature braid
i was told it my duty to watch the bread rise
my mother kneaded the dough
my grandmother measured ingredients
my great grandmother risked her life to scavenge for eggs
i was told it my duty to raise a daughter to take the bread out of the oven
to feed it to those in need
to mark it as a centerpiece for the table that generations of my people have sat around
millions perished simply because their heritage allowed them a seat
millions more were lost in attempts to defend it
gravestones litter our table like scrabble pieces
i was told if you squint you can make out the words we are trying to spell
each letter holds a question and an answer
a memory and a prayer
//DANELLE TUCHMAN is first year in Columbia College. She can be reached at dst2161@columbia.edu.