The Pigeons Rose from the Floor of the Earth; A Clamoring of Wings to Disturb the Silence

The sun had not yet risen  
the stars made their way to the center of the sky  
congregating on the throne of tomorrow.

The commandment of two breaths: 
Live and Pray 

            The seen and unseen.

My child reminds me 
there were once whales  
here in this expanse of sand.

            The seen and unseen.

Like the dormer that cuts through the ceiling  
and perches a body in the sky 
for the looking.

             The seen and unseen.

We float in whatever ways we can  
knowing our suspension in the sky brings us closer to our own yearnings.  
Mediates the tension of our body’s desire for earth  
and our spirit’s desire for sky. 

            The seen and unseen.

This was understood.  
Implicated in the pinnacle  
at the point of the pyramid. 

            The seen and unseen.

This was never thought of by the grave diggers  
who left their spirits to deepen their flesh into earth.

Who gave their way to the “partition of finds.”

Blinded by the seeing 
collapsing the centuries 
into cold marble halls.

If ever you see my hands in cuffs 
know that somewhere near 
a museum is burning.
 

Credit

Copyright © 2026 by Matthew Shenoda. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on February 5, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets. 

About this Poem

“This poem originates from research on ancient objects and museum holdings where I came upon the term ‘the partition of finds,’ often used in museum collections to describe the artifacts (and sometimes bodies) dug up by colonial intruders and their ‘rights’ to them. A sanitized way to say, ‘This is my share of the loot.’ I am struck by a worldview that normalizes this kind of theft and grave robbing and determines it a noble act on behalf of an invented ‘universal culture.’ It is linked to a worldview that ignores the contemporary descendants of the people who created these objects and the cultural, ritual, and spiritual worlds that birthed them.”
—Matthew Shenoda