Damien of Moloka‘i   They say we are cursed by God — that is why the king sends his tax collectors to take us away from our mothers, and they cry “Unclean! Unclean!” when the first pustules break the skin, and everyone knows what will come in turn — the lost fingers and toes, the rot and reek of walking death. We hear the drums at night, remember life and what we’re not. It’s true — we were luckless, lost when he came. We drank and fought and swore, we didn’t care — but he cared. He loved us and said we must love ourselves, share our bread, drink from the same cup — sick or strong, we all breathe the same air. He said he came to become one of us.     © Michael Fleming Brattleboro, Vermont December 2017