the tender place between lands

I remember when this tender-heart was made political. She walked through the green world, spring. I remember her awakening to some kind of tension surrounding her youth — 7 or 8, while the rest of her was made more brown by the dust and sun. 

It’s too much to place on the shoulders of souls so newly present on the earth.

To know a thing like genocide, to know her intimate world of tribe is batted around by politicians in places far beyond these wildflowers. Still, so much beauty around and within this particular curve of the earth. The future see’s her as someone who will come to know both opposite worlds intimately. In this moment, she stands in the tender place between lands.