“Third World Geography,” by Cirilo F. Bautista. A country without miracles sits heavy on the map, thinking of banana trees rotting in the sunlight. The man who watches over it has commandeered all hopes, placed them in a sack, and tied its loose end. He goes around carrying it on his back. When asked what is inside, he says, “Just a handful of feathers, just a handful of feathers.” That’s how light the burden of government is in peace time— any tyrant can turn it into a metaphor. You kneel on the parched earth and pray for rice. Only the wind hears your useless words. The country without miracles tries to get up from the page, but the bold ink and sharp colors hold it down.
“Third World Geography,” by Cirilo F. Bautista. A country without miracles sits heavy on the map, thinking of banana trees rotting in the sunlight. The man who watches over it has commandeered all hopes, placed them in a sack, and tied its loose end. He goes around carrying it on his back. When asked what is inside, he says, “Just a handful of feathers, just a handful of feathers.” That’s how light the burden of government is in peace time— any tyrant can turn it into a metaphor. You kneel on the parched earth and pray for rice. Only the wind hears your useless words. The country without miracles tries to get up from the page,
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