A day like this

In this land where the rivers met on the plains of alluvium
among the fields of grain, first planted
a woman stood, hand over eyes
watching traders passing by.
Oxen pull carts piled high with barley
and their wooden wheels were new.
She saw her still sound pot missed a chip
and kept filling it.

When the sunset tinted she went to the city of walls
climbed onto the roof of the common house
then poured fresh brewed beer, took a sip
and heard tales of distant wars and parley.

As she drank her soup, a man sat back and sang a familiar song
of a city lord who wandered asking sages, gods
that his friend's fate should not befall to him.
She took bread, dipped it in the soup and set it to her lips.
While she chewed, the woman at her side spoke to her
said scribes had captured this singer's voice in clay.

The sunset passed, out came the oil lamps and torches
and the game board. She played the odds for a while
until the stars told her it was time to sleep.

For a moment on the way home she stood in the dark, head back, to stare.

Sleep came and this day passed and many others
as the repeating patterns of this new life were already set.

Dust then covered the cities, pushed them into memory's oblivion
until at long last, the first, their words on clay
and the bones of their cities
were rediscovered by those who live in these latter days
and a day like this could be remembered once more.