The Peasantry

The people, and the people alone, are the motive force of world history.
—Mao Zedong, “On Coalition Government”

I’ve found you more difficult to work with, which,
as I was told, is pretty much how you think of me.

I could smell the fertilizers on your skin.
You could smell the skinflint on my hands.

I could read history from the back of your reddened skull.
You could read me directly, reflected in the eyes of passers-by.

I eat porridge. You eat porridge. I apologize
to my guests for my lack of hospitality. You apologize

to tax collectors for the lack of produce. I think
I heard wars were waged to raise your standard of living.

You think “standard of living” is ludicrous.
I think even the communists betrayed you.

You agree, and go back to tilling your field.
I hate that your face is a mishmash of bones.

As a child, I pointed fingers at you.
When I went to see the beautiful countryside,

I admired and avoided you.
When I zoomed in on the rice paddies,

I feared you would emerge from them.
I feared you would blame me

for not thinking long enough of you.
Then I think for you. That’s not that easy.

You prefer to think about cows and children
so they don’t have to think about cows and children.

But I always fall back to thinking about you
and you will have to learn to become we:

When we finally organize ourselves,
even the masters in the city will invite us to tea.

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