He was born a vessel
For the waters,
A vacuum
For the sands
A worn refuge
For what others cannot bear
While his brothers received brilliance,
or beauty,
or visions,
he silently cradles his burden
Thrust upon his blistered back,
Broad knuckles swelling
Like tender bread.
They insist “privilege,”
They say
you are the strongest.
They laugh, they say
you wield the strength we do not.
Bow their heads low,
you endure like we cannot.
His veins map the deepest indigos,
The purples of the water,
Trace the rivers,
Color the lakes.
His children power the oceans,
Give light to the heavens.
They ask him of truth
and of beauty,
but he does not answer.
He takes the vault of the sky
On his shoulders.
He takes the weight
of the seas and the stars
and the earth.
Atlas, they whisper,
We have found our way