The Village Poem by Ellory Mace

The streets of
my village
still are

the streets of
my village
and yet

A new wind is
blowing, a wind carrying
scents from far and near

The bakery baking
flat bread now as daily
as to almost take over
the image
of bread

The butchers halal
or any other trade
from four continents
at walking
distance

All people buying
and selling time and
groceries

In a common space
thtat we call
The Village
we live in.

In my village
in my part of town
there's everywhere
the sound of children

the language of
here and now, dealing
with one another as
a matter of fact.

We get up and
go out of
our houses, meet
each other out
there and we

come home
where we live

in the village.