The Sun still Rises

She tells me“I am an old thingFull of creaks, cracks and wood worn smoothFull of recuerdos y cancionesFull of life but filled with the memories of the dead”I ask herWhat do you remember?She tells me“I rememberfalling from my mother’s armand slowly poking my way upthrough the brown soilI rememberGrowing tallAnd reaching deepI rememberFeeling the glory of the dawn each morningAnd the restfulness of the dusk each eveningBut I also rememberWhite men coming to my islandNeedlessly felling my sistersAnd uprooting the land for their consumptionI rememberThe people that I used to shelter under my majestic boughsNeedlessly cut down by sword and diseaseFamilies uprooted and enslaved for their profitI rememberWeepingWhen they brought people of black skinFrom over the seaTo work in fields that ruined the land I so lovedRuined the spirits of those who were so far from their own treesI rememberA country fighting for independenceOnly to be recolonized”I remember-Stop! I sayIt is too muchI askHow do you hold so much pain and not go insane?She replies“Insanity is the only appropriate response to genocideBut the Sun still Rises.”