América

The isthmus was the adhesive always holding us together, like fraternal twins conjoined, locked by a crooked rib. And though it looked quite thin, brittle and ready to snap, the mightiest ships of imperial fleets could only turn away, to round Cape Horn at a crawl, to meet Pacific waves. El Canal de Panamá, christened in ’14, in the summer of the Serbian shot.

Yes, this brings us Yen and Yuan. Yes, this hews in half the journey. But brother, earthen-brother, your breath is not as close, and strangers sail the space between our scars.

Andreas Gripp

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